He's just not going to.

The post before this, dated Monday, July 8.. I spoke about what a fantastic fourth of July weekend my family had... And it was fantastic. Wonderful. The best. Papa cooked for everyone. He popped the kid's toes. He got out his mask and scared the crap out of them. Which he thought was hilarious. (The kids at this point realize it is him, but they humor him anyway...)  He hugged my children and made them laugh those laughs that billow over and erupt into giggle fits. Right at bedtime. When you wish they would just settle down. Oh no, not when Papa was around. That's when he got them all worked up. And we were all drinking our wine, hollering at him to "leave them be!" "Go up to bed!"

We should've let him torment them until the sun came up... 

I haven't been able to blog until now. Haven't been able to mutter a word about it. Maybe because it doesn't seem real. Maybe because I know that as I type, the emotions will come flooding out. Maybe because I just haven't wanted to. Maybe because writing it makes it all come to surface. Stupid death. Stupid, stupid death. I keep expecting him to walk around the corner. But he's not going to. He's just not going to. 

Generally when someone close to me dies, I write. I write poems. I journal. I talk out loud on paper. It's what I do. Then I read it at their funeral. Or publish it on their funeral "hand out".. What do you call those anyway??? Bulletins? Brochures? Order of Service? Shit, I don't know. All I know is that I usually write in it. Or, read something that I wrote. But this time, I couldn't write. I could barely read. Hell, I could barely breathe. 

I don't really want it to be real. He wasn't supposed to go. He was 58 years old, for God's sake. Is that why I'm in denial? I don't want my mom to be lonely. I don't really want to miss him at Christmas. Or at the lake. Or at OU/TX. Or at home. Or at Thanksgiving. Or giving me an awful time about my incompetence at cooking. Or at my children's sporting events. Or at fourth of July.... I don't want to miss him in front of that "texas smoker" grill charring the hell out of his ribs... I don't want to miss the times like building the trampoline with him. (ha! It was quite an experience..) Or, watching with patience him trying to put up a tent with my kids.. (without using instructions..)  I watched for two hours before I finally had to step in. I'm so glad I have a photograph of that. You have no idea.... 

And the thing that sticks with me is... The night before my husband and I loaded up our kiddos to head back to Texas.. As we all sat down for dinner... He said, "Max, you have that big ole' fancy camera.. You want a special picture? Here's your shot..." And he made me go get my camera and stand on a chair, when all I really wanted to do was eat.. And take a photo. A last photo. I will always love it.  And I will always love him.  And so will my husband and my children love him. And my precious mama. She loved him so.. And he loved her like no other. He cherished her. 

Remember the important things. They are important. 

imperfectly perfect. this photo. and I love it so... and I SO love everyone in it. with my whole heart. 

things will just never be the same...