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Oct. 18th, 2004 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
senoritafishIt's been nearly ten years, but I still miss you. I wish you could see your grandkids; I know they'd like to meet you. They ask me a lot of questions. I point out your black and white picture hanging in the hallway, the one where you're standing with Dad shortly after you got married, I think. He looks a bit like the cat who got the canary, and you look hopeful and happy. I think it must have been taken before you quit making him breakfast every morning, eh? Heh-heh. You're wearing a sleeveless white dress and cat-eye glasses, and he's wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and a black tie. His hair is crew-cut, much the way he does still, although there's less of it.
It's funny; I made an appointment with the neurologist for Angus on your other anniversary, next week, and the date did not even register with me until later. Surprisingly, it did not cause me a pang. But I still get them occasionally, usually for no reason at all. They pass more quickly now. Most of the time.
I met someone this weekend, who had never met you, but had heard a lot about you from a friend. It felt a little strange. The friend who had passed on stories about you was one who did not come to see you in your last few days, for which I don't blame her (and I'm sure you don't either); she had just gone through a similar thing with her husband and it was too painful.
Dates are meaningless to you now, aren't they? They only serve as reminders for those of us here on this plane. However, if you do still exist in some form, somewhere, aside from the bits of you that are part of my makeup and that of my children (those darn selfish genes, doncha know), I hope you can tell you are still loved very much. It's nice to imagine Bob is keeping you company - you two did know each other after all, and I think you got to like each other after your initial (shock? pissed-off-ness?) when I brought him home. At least you didn't just walk out of the house like you did when Doug carried my corn snake out into the living room - he was supposed to have kept it a secret, darn him.
Happy Birthday, Mom. We miss you both.
My parents, shortly after they were married. On the back, in my mom's handwriting:
"At Bob's aunt's Golden Wedding Anniversary in August"
Edit: for a recent newcomers, Bob is my father's name; however, it was the also the name of my cat who passed away earlier this summer.
It's funny; I made an appointment with the neurologist for Angus on your other anniversary, next week, and the date did not even register with me until later. Surprisingly, it did not cause me a pang. But I still get them occasionally, usually for no reason at all. They pass more quickly now. Most of the time.
I met someone this weekend, who had never met you, but had heard a lot about you from a friend. It felt a little strange. The friend who had passed on stories about you was one who did not come to see you in your last few days, for which I don't blame her (and I'm sure you don't either); she had just gone through a similar thing with her husband and it was too painful.
Dates are meaningless to you now, aren't they? They only serve as reminders for those of us here on this plane. However, if you do still exist in some form, somewhere, aside from the bits of you that are part of my makeup and that of my children (those darn selfish genes, doncha know), I hope you can tell you are still loved very much. It's nice to imagine Bob is keeping you company - you two did know each other after all, and I think you got to like each other after your initial (shock? pissed-off-ness?) when I brought him home. At least you didn't just walk out of the house like you did when Doug carried my corn snake out into the living room - he was supposed to have kept it a secret, darn him.
Happy Birthday, Mom. We miss you both.
My parents, shortly after they were married. On the back, in my mom's handwriting:
"At Bob's aunt's Golden Wedding Anniversary in August"
Edit: for a recent newcomers, Bob is my father's name; however, it was the also the name of my cat who passed away earlier this summer.
