It has been a year now without you. I miss you a lot. I still think about you a dozen times a day. I still expect to receive a call from you at any moment. You were pretty much the only person who ever called. I used to share my life here and I haven’t in many months. Why? Because you were the main audience. You were and likely always will be my number one fan. I know you’re probably still reading so this is me realizing my selfishness and promising to get back on the train.
I must confess that I recorded every voicemail you left me from the day you became sick; I never knew which would be the last and something about keeping them made me feel better. I do listen to them from time to time. It’s nice to hear your voice even though it hurts. I do suppose the finality is beginning to sink in. I won’t be getting a call and you won’t be commenting my latest post, but I’ll be damned if I don’t have a voicemail of you singing me happy birthday that I may or may not have played for myself this year and will forever more.
It has brought me great solace over the past year to see how much you’re still present after passing. I see you in my habits, I see you in the girls, I see you in Jessie, I see you in Dad, I see you in random lines of text on billboards, I see you in the sky, I see you in odd items on the shelf of the grocery store, and so many other places. It’s weird, but it’s awesome and it’ll never fade. For that and for you, I’m thankful.