Six years and a couple of days ago my husband I first began texting and he sent me this photo.
Five years ago he was brand new in the country and we were enjoying our longest time ever at home together thanks to Snowmageadon.
I’ve been missing many of those important anniversaries because I was knew the one I’ve been dreading since day one was finally here. He has been dead for as long as he was here.
But now that that time as come and gone I realize it doesn’t change anything. You cannot compare the time I was with him with the time he has been gone. It’s as if each day with him weighed 1000000 lbs and each day since he has been gone is meaningless.
All days are not equally significant. The days we spent together have a significance that has not faded a bit in the last two and a half years. Maybe that’s why they are called significant others.
I miss him more today than the day he died.
Zoya says nearly daily right now, “I wish my daddy didn’t die. Maybe he will come back before I die. Or maybe we will all die and come back together.” “I wish my daddy could work in an office so he wouldn’t die.” “How did the bad guy get a gun?” “Maybe did he buy it at a bad guy store?” “I miss my daddy. I wish he didn’t die.”
Same here baby girl. I miss him too.