There’s a million things you’ve missed already. A million and one. And when I think about it, it makes me want to cry, and it makes my heart break, and it makes me smile, because you got to be there for two million and two things.
When friends lose someone, I try to be patient, because I remember. I remember drinking the God-awful sicky sweet alcohol out of a plastic pineapple in the airport bar in O’ahu as my plane was delayed and delayed and delayed again. I didn’t know what else to do, and you were the only one I could think of to call. That was four years ago. And sometimes you’re still the only one I can think to call. And you number is still in my phone- though I’m sure someone else uses it now.
If wishes were fishes the whole world would be fed.
But that doesn’t stop me wishing.
Wishing you were here. That you had been the one crying at Bethy’s wedding instead of me. That you had met, and approved the marvelous man she married. That you got to meet the one I’m seeing now. That you could revel in our successes, and failures with us still. That you embarrassed us still in restaurants and begged for more visits with your children and grandchildren.
My faith say’s this is just a temporary thing- that you are there watching over us, giving us what we need to make it through day after day of life without you. And so I want to be confident that you still see.
You will see us laugh as we take our seats in restaurants, or pull coupons from our ginormous purses. You will see us with our lipstick for the mail box (okay, more Bethy than me, but I do rock a pick lip for work most days!). You will see us teach our daughters how to sit in Easter dresses, and how to rock pantyhose on their heads in a grocery store, if that’s what they want to do. You will see us sing the little birdie song to wake sleeping children. We will bake biscuits for Christmas cookies, buy a million coloured fingernail polishes, drive around looking for the perfect Christmas tree. We will rush our children and husbands while we’re not ready. We will live exclusivly out of the Costco freezer case at some point, and allow each child to choose a frozen treat from there to keep on hand at all times. We will insist on hydration and sunscreen. We will listen to our bodies and make the doctors listen too. We will fight anyone who thinks our kids aren’t good enough. We will make friends who become family. We will follow our passions to help people.
And we will love.
Because you taught us to. Until heaven-
All my love, your Sarah Mae