It'll be two years since we lost you tomorrow, and our family still doesn't make sense without you. You were the glue and the love that held us together, and while we are still bonded through love it's not the same.
I miss our phone calls. The ones where I'd explain what was going on and you'd comfort or scold me, the times when I could call you and announce my joy over getting a new job or finding a good deal on clothes. The ones where we were finally both adults and friends, and you would confide in me and ask advice. I miss being able to call and ask stupid/basic cooking questions.
I miss the support you gave. How you would come all the way to my state and take care of me during and after any surgery I had. How we could complain about doctors. How you would mama-bear doctors for me when I was only 20 and needing a surgery they kept delaying.
I miss your hugs. I miss talking about travel and where we could go in the world. I miss what I had hoped would be the reality of celebrating my 30th and your 60th together in Hawaii, before you were too sick, before you had to let me down and make me realize you wouldn't reach your 60th.
I miss your final acceptance of my sexuality, of the gender that I wanted to marry. I miss the opportunity of having you at my wedding. Of having you watch me adopt children. Of being around until I was elderly too. I miss the things I never had.
But most of all, I miss that I had you.
pixelskylines
izzy806
areudirty
stormborns
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