The date of his birth posted by his picture, proceeded by the date of his departure.
His name, "dad," under my contacts list on my cell phone when calling his house to talk to my step mom.
The thought of his Pink Floyd albums sparked by the Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt a teenager was sporting at the grocery store.
The warm carmel brown color of my dad's eyes staring back at me as I looked into the mirror while washing my hands at the coffee shop.
The picture of my dad grinning ear to ear while my son looks at him with the same facial expression my dad always made.
My oldest telling my husband that he wants to going fishing with daddy and baby E and Buba and Papa Brian (my dad).
Some moments seems so normal -- dancing with my kiddos in the living room, warning G. not to wrestle with baby E. too roughly, washing dishes. And then one tiny little thing -- a number, a t-shirt, my own coffee eyes -- sets off a grand finale of fireworks of memories in my mind. And I want so badly for the pain to stop blinding the here and now while simultaneously thanking God for the memories, praying they don't fade away into smoke after the vibrant fits of firework color are done dazzling, sparkling in the night sky.
Comments are closed on this post. Though I appreciate so much all of the love and support and show of care, I know that it's draining for you, my friends, to figure out the best words to say right now. I feel so loved. Thank you so much. Your words of encouragement and love and prayers have been one of the things carrying me through this painful time. I hope your night is peaceful, and that you know I feel so held right now. If you want to reach me, please don't hesitate to e-mail.