It’s been six years and two days. I still think about him. I still think about you.

.

This year has felt so heavy for us all. The world has slowed and shifted. We’ve stayed in, we’ve argued, we’ve made peace, found new joys, enjoyed being together, and all gone stir-crazy.

.

Perhaps that’s why it’s sat heavy on me this year. Thinking, wondering, what it must feel like for you, to be stuck in with your family, but missing a place, missing a spot, always missing his personality. I’m wondering how I would have handled this year if my son had left me six years and two days ago instead of coming home with me.

.

I sit in my room each night, and when I do, I can see the Christmas tree in the neighbor’s family room. It is filtered through my window, across my yard, their yard, their back window… It looks fuzzy, out of focus, beautiful. Is that how life feels for you? Distant. Fuzzy. Beautiful. But not right, missing the mark, missing some of the warmth? What did he spark to life in you that no one else will ignite?

.

I’ve always imagined her to be his cousin. She stood outside our room, looking through our glass door, I raised my head from his bed, tears coming down her cheeks, she let me know she was praying for us. I let her know I was praying for her. We shared no words. I think of her often. I wonder where life took her. I imagine her as a nurse, teacher, someone who took those moments, painful and full of empathy, and turned them into something great.

.

I think of you, dear momma, I pray for your heart, I pray for your Christmas. I pray for clarity amidst the struggle of this 2020.