On the day you died, Casey woke up and told me that he had a wonderful dream about you. You were 20 years younger, and telling him about a wonderful meal you’d just eaten.
On the day you died, it was raining the morning.
On the day you died, “What a Wonderful World” came on in the car on our way to work, and I looked over at Casey – the tears streaming down his face mirrored mine as he whispered, “My Mom loves this song.”
On the day you died, I cried all the way to work after I dropped Casey off. I couldn’t shake a terrible feeling.
On the day you died, I glanced at my phone at 11:47, saw a missed call from Casey, and knew you were gone.
On the day you died, the sun came out at noon and we wondered if you were lighting the day.
On the day you died we held each other. We cried, we remembered. We said so many “I love yous” as we tried to fill the void you left.
On the day you died Casey and I fell asleep holding hands, tears streaming down our face silently in the darkness.
On the day you died, the world didn’t stop spinning, but our world did– at least for a moment — as we took time to honor your time on this Earth and wish you well on your journey to the next.