Today would have been your 61st birthday.
Wow.
In just 18 days, you'll have been gone for two whole years. I still can't believe it's been that long.
Over the past few days, I've wondered if you weren't here, looking over my shoulder or something, because of odd scents I don't remember being in my house. Is it because of your birthday, or because of the upcoming anniversary of your leaving us?
I still talk to you, but now it's directed to the little urn which holds some of your ashes. In fact, I dusted it off, and now it sits--- YOU sit--- on the upper corner of my keyboard while I type. I'm wearing your Australia sweatshirt--- the one Peter brought you from Werribee--- and will be frying up oysters for my supper tonight.
I wonder what would have been different had you not developed ALS? Would you still have been working? Would you have been able to help me through the terrible things that Scott was doing to your grandchildren? Or would it have been just That. Much. Worse?
I wish that I had listened to you, instead of defending him. He didn't deserve it, and I know that now. It should have been a big clue to me when he told me he didn't want to go to your memorial service--- I mean, what kind of husband says that to his grieving wife?!?
I really don't know how anything would be different if you were alive today, except that I would have more of your hugs when I needed them most. But I don't know if I'd have appreciated them any better than I'd appreciate them now.
I miss you so much, Mommy.
