I wrote the date today. It is 4/2/14. 2 months after your heart stopped beating and your lungs quit drawing breath.
When I wrote the date I took a deep breath and remembered when I picked up the phone early on that February morning. I knew when I saw Michaels name on the caller id I would be receiving bad news. Why would he call at 6 am? 6:03 to be exact. I heard sobbing and his scared little voice tell me that you died as he burst back in to tears. I don’t recall much in the next few minutes except a sinking ache on my stomach.
An ache that reminded me how I wanted to call you. How I wanted you to be ok. How I wanted to know that you were at your apartment on Vindicator Dr breathing. But you weren’t. You had left us.
Your beautiful soul was too great for this world to contain any longer so you had to leave. And you did.
And I miss you. 2 months and I wish you could come back and see me. See the kids running and playing. India, trying to eat worms. You would like her. And she would like you.