I don't clean my house everyday. There are most likely dishes in my sink, Sometimes I turn a movie on that I know my son loves, so I can sneak a nap in. I don't cook dinner every night, and lunch consist of microwave mac n cheese often. I don't give my son a bath everyday. Some days I don't even put clothes on him; just let him run around in underwear.
I kiss his boo boos. I sing him songs. I suffer through thomas the train over, and over. I read him a million books. I drive around looking for "ho-ho" (santa). I watch him while he sleeps. I have dance parties with him. I take him to the park, and library. I play hide and seek with him. I laugh with him. I cry with him. I love him with my whole heart.
No, I'm not perfect..
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
My best friend - I miss you.
After all these years its hard to come up with things to write, but the memory of all the things I've remembered- written before is always there. You're always there. No matter what I do, or say you're always in there somewhere. So much of me is consumed by you that at times it annoys me. Its hard to let go of a person that is so much yourself. so much everything you want, need, and are. I think that if we were to see each other now, you would be completely shocked at how certain things have turned out.. but I know you'd be proud. As weak as I may be when it comes to you, because of you I'm stronger.
Its truly hard to believe that its been eight years. EIGHT YEARS. When the wind blows a certain way, or I hear something in the distance. It feels like for that split second you're really there. I close my eyes and see your face.. I hear your guitar.. I hear your bedroom door opening to go get something to drink in hopes of not waking anyone. I imagine you running your fingers across the ceiling as you walk into the kitchen. When I visited your mom after you died.. I could have sworn I saw fingerprints on the ceiling.. so I quietly stood on my toes and reached up to touch the places you had touched. I was scared to go in your bedroom.. afraid I'd see blood.. or see the way they had destroyed your room when they were "cleaning" it.. and gathering their information. Trying to figure out just who Bobby Wilmoth was, and why he would do such a thing. I sat out on the front porch with your sister.. letting her cry.. letting her tell me stories and me cry. I went to her house, and slept with the blanket you always used. I just wanted to be there.. in your life.
I wanted you in mine.
I really miss you. Things will never be the same, but I will never forget. Never is a promise.
I love you.
Sometimes it's easy to say nothing, hurt on the inside, and deny your pain. July 1st is a day I think about all the time. I dread it. Sometimes I wish that July 1st 2001 never existed. Just skip that day entirely. I think about you so much I don't even realize it sometimes. There isn't a time I hear a guitar, and don't think of you. There's so much I wish you could have seen- done. There's so much I want to tell you. I wanted to share you with the world. You had so much to give. So much talent.. so much beauty.. I am beyond grateful that you shared that with me. This flame that burns inside of me, burns stronger because I knew you. All of my stories about you have been told. I never get tired of them I just wish I had more. More stories.. more time.. more love.. more you. If I listen closely I can hear your voice. I bet you hate the way I've dealt with this. I just can't handle you and gone in the same sentence. It seems like a bad dream, with distorted images. Traces left on paper. Maybe I'm not the strongest person, but this has shown me that I am strong. I can deal with the uncertain.. shock.. greif.. agony.. and the great things. I've grown so much because of this.. because of you. That old saying "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger" really rings true.
Your birthday is soon. I will celebrate it for you. I wish we could celebrate together.
Bobby, I hope that you've found your peace.
I love you.
I will forever miss you.
Sweet dreams.....
Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her
by Christopher Brennan (1870-1932)
If questioning would make us wise
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.
Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.
For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?
Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I live
And life in me is what you give.
Its truly hard to believe that its been eight years. EIGHT YEARS. When the wind blows a certain way, or I hear something in the distance. It feels like for that split second you're really there. I close my eyes and see your face.. I hear your guitar.. I hear your bedroom door opening to go get something to drink in hopes of not waking anyone. I imagine you running your fingers across the ceiling as you walk into the kitchen. When I visited your mom after you died.. I could have sworn I saw fingerprints on the ceiling.. so I quietly stood on my toes and reached up to touch the places you had touched. I was scared to go in your bedroom.. afraid I'd see blood.. or see the way they had destroyed your room when they were "cleaning" it.. and gathering their information. Trying to figure out just who Bobby Wilmoth was, and why he would do such a thing. I sat out on the front porch with your sister.. letting her cry.. letting her tell me stories and me cry. I went to her house, and slept with the blanket you always used. I just wanted to be there.. in your life.
I wanted you in mine.
I really miss you. Things will never be the same, but I will never forget. Never is a promise.
I love you.
Sometimes it's easy to say nothing, hurt on the inside, and deny your pain. July 1st is a day I think about all the time. I dread it. Sometimes I wish that July 1st 2001 never existed. Just skip that day entirely. I think about you so much I don't even realize it sometimes. There isn't a time I hear a guitar, and don't think of you. There's so much I wish you could have seen- done. There's so much I want to tell you. I wanted to share you with the world. You had so much to give. So much talent.. so much beauty.. I am beyond grateful that you shared that with me. This flame that burns inside of me, burns stronger because I knew you. All of my stories about you have been told. I never get tired of them I just wish I had more. More stories.. more time.. more love.. more you. If I listen closely I can hear your voice. I bet you hate the way I've dealt with this. I just can't handle you and gone in the same sentence. It seems like a bad dream, with distorted images. Traces left on paper. Maybe I'm not the strongest person, but this has shown me that I am strong. I can deal with the uncertain.. shock.. greif.. agony.. and the great things. I've grown so much because of this.. because of you. That old saying "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger" really rings true.
Your birthday is soon. I will celebrate it for you. I wish we could celebrate together.
Bobby, I hope that you've found your peace.
I love you.
I will forever miss you.
Sweet dreams.....
Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her
by Christopher Brennan (1870-1932)
If questioning would make us wise
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.
Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.
For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?
Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I live
And life in me is what you give.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
