Remembering

There are so many things I wish I could hear you say just one more time.  Or annoying habits that I could re-live outside a memory. You are everywhere I turn...dirty work clothes still laying on the bathroom floor, lunch box on top of the fridge, pile of crap treasures on the counter by the sink next to your thermos, 500 pairs of shoes by the washer & dryer, a shop full of tools/treasures, a driveway full of toys.  Everywhere I go you're here...but you're not.  And it's like a stab in the chest.  I think part of me is still waiting for you to come home.  Waiting for that sense of relief to see your headlights pulling into the driveway.  Waiting to feel your arms wrap around me, thanking me for being such an "awesome" wife and letting you go "play."  sigh  If only.

Laura has asked about you...she's still waiting, too. The first time she asked "Where my Daddy go?" I told her that you were in heaven and we couldn't see you anymore.  She told me "5 minutes Mommy...I hug him."  tears  A couple nights ago she asked "Where my Daddy go" again, when we were getting out of the shower.  I told her again that you were in heaven.  "Where heaven at?"  By the moon and the stars, sweetheart.  "Daddy accident?"  Yes, baby.  And then she went on about her night.  Saturday night, when we got home, she told me she was going to wait in her car seat "Daddy get me."  You know this had been her M-O the last several weeks.  So I told her again.  And she melted down...bawling, wailing.  And I cried right along with her as I fought her to get her out of her  car seat "NO MOMMY DADDY GET ME."  My mom told me that when she took her to her house yesterday, out of the blue in the car she said "My Daddy loves me, Gama."  So I have to believe that you are here, there, everywhere trying to help her understand. Trying to help me understand and cope.  But I don't...I don't understand why we are in this position after all the heartache we have already endured.

Remember all those times you would give me a bad time about me always being older than you?  I'd retort that you were born in April, me in November of the same year.  I guess you were right...I will always be older than you because you will forever be 32.

Remember all those times you told me that the girls would be ok as long as they had their Mommy?  I vehemently disagreed, telling you it was just a stage...that they would turn into Daddy's little girls and they needed you just as much.  I'm calling a truce on that...they have me, but they still need you. I still need you, damn it.

Remember when you'd ask for my "permission" to buy another toy, another rifle, another tool..."at least you'll have lots of shit to sell if anything ever happens to me."  Not funny.

And remember when you'd say, "You know I don't say it very often, but I love you and I hope you know how much by my actions...actions speak louder than words."  I knew...I know.  But I would give anything to hear you tell me just one more time.  I love you...I LOVE YOU.  And I wish I would have told you more often, wish that I could tell you one more time.