It was another Mother's Day. I thought of you. I won't be melodramatic and say it hasn't gotten easier - it has. The sting faded a long time ago. And, yes, it is easier. But it's still not always easy.
I could use some advice, to be honest. You died before I had a chance to get married, or become a father. And, frankly, I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to be a good husband. I don't know how to raise a daughter. She's beautiful, by the way - your
granddaughter. She looks just like her mom, but ever once in a while, I see you in her face.
It's been fifteen years, and it has gotten easier . . . but it's still not easy. I have so many questions to ask. Questions about cooking. Advice about cleaning. We could use some new curtains, and no one sewed curtains better than you. So many questions. Honestly, though, more than anything, I simply miss you.
I miss your laugh. You didn't laugh often, but when you did, it came from your soul. Your whole being laughed.
I miss your unshakable faith in Christ. I miss how you clung to Him when things were tough. When the cancer was growing in your body like clusters of grapes, when it was eating away at you and eroding your body, you clung to Him. When times were good, you praised Him, knowing that everything good comes from Him. Your trust never wavered. I miss that faith.
You're way better off now, and that helps. It helps a lot. It may be the only thing that helps.
Anyway, just thinking about you this week. I love you and miss you, but we'll see each other again.
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