I spent the last two days home sick. For the record, I am terrible at staying home sick. I get frustrated when I don’t feel well enough to do anything. I couldn’t even read. So I slept. And watched terrible TV. And talked to the dogs. And counted down the minutes until my Mom or Casey got home from work and I would have someone to talk to.

Today at work, the alarm was going off all day. All day there was a muted “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” sound. And at about 4pm the repair person came and shut it off. And it was quiet.  I hadn’t even realized how much noise was there until it wasn’t there anymore. Isn’t that always the way though? As the saying goes, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. You don’t know how loud something is in your life until it’s quiet- until something is gone. I love our lives here, but sometimes the absence of my best friend, my person- is deafening.Especially in the quiet.

Tomorrow will mark 3 years since Casey had the stroke. 3 years that were never promised to me, but I’m so grateful that we’ve had. We will celebrate, because we have so much to be thankful for.

Saturday, we will walk in a “Making Strides for Breast Cancer” 5k, and know that it has been over a decade now that my Mom has been “no evidence of disease.” Cancer-free. And we will celebrate, because there is so much to be thankful for.

That’s life- the ups and downs and all arounds. Thankful, grateful, and everything in between. What a great ride it is, isn’t it?

We’ve been married for FOUR years. So we returned to the scene of the crime.

Maine was beautiful and kind to us. And I got to give this one a bunch of hugs. But I miss her already.

And we got to hug Casey’s parents and spend time just being.

And then we came home. And it hits me all over again, that home is not a place or a destination. Because when we were in Maine, we were home. And when we came back to NC, we were home. And home is when you are with the people you love.

And then I turned 31.

Or 21, since they were out of “3” in the grocery store.

And I’ve applied to be a “Big Buddy” which I’m excited about.

We haven’t heard anything about our foster care license, still biding our time, and getting more excited by the moment.

The days string together to make weeks, months, seasons, years.

Like Christmas lights.

Which we get to put up soon!

What have you been up to?

For most of my life, we were inseparable.

I’ve been dragged to daycare that had smelly feet all around, concerts that left me wondering when did enemy by imagine dragons release, and first sleepovers (and every sleepover thereafter).

I’ve played dress up, doctor, and school (her tests are pretty hard).

She gives me funny voices that she pretends are mine, because she likes to imagine what I might say to her.

But the scariest of time –  was a time I was lost to her. I got put away during a cleaning spree and she couldn’t find me.

For days and days she looked for me, but couldn’t find me.

And clearly, I couldn’t yell for her to find me.

So I waited. And waited. It’s hard to know how much time went by – was it days? Weeks? Months?

I’m not sure, after awhile time runs into itself and it’s hard to keep track.

I couldn’t help but wonder, had she forgotten all about me? Did she just not need me anymore? Did she put me here on purpose?

One day the cover was lifted from where I was and I saw the light of day again.

Her joy was permeable, as she enveloped me in a tight hug.

Here she was again! The familiar embrace, that joyful laugh.

“SNUGGLES! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she exclaimed.

Oh how excited I was! To be held, and loved, and even cried on again.  I appreciated it all so much more.

Taking my rightful place on her bed again, I was content.

And that night, as she drifted to sleep using me as a familiar pillow – I realized, that we all get lost now and again – and that the reunion  almost makes the being lost worth it.

___________________

Responding to a prompt on “Write on Being Lost Using personification”… For more adventures of Snuggles, read here…

When I picture you, you’ve got a twinkle in your eye, sitting in your rocking chair, laughing at a joke you’ve just made – the kind of sarcastic joke that takes me a minute to figure out if you’re being serious or not.

When I picture you, you’re in the woods. Trying to tell me the difference between deer poop and bear poop, even though to me – it’s just poop poop. You’re patient, despite my non-stop pleas to go inside and play another hand of Old Maid with Grammie.

It’s not hard to picture you, even though it’s been over 20 years since you’ve been gone. Your laugh is burned into my memory, and your sly smile plays out on my own mother’s face every day. Uncle Jeff calls it a $hit-eating grin.

When I think of you, I hope that you’re proud. Of the incredible strength you instilled in your daughter, my mother. In your son, my Uncle. In your family, in me.

When I picture you, in Heaven, I stop to consider whether or not I really believe in such a place. What that place looks like. And I still don’t know, but I like to think of you joyful, somewhere in this universe, knowing that you are far from forgotten. That you are thought of every day, that your quirky sayings and bad jokes are told all the time.

That your great-grandchildren will know you, from the tales we will spin about you (the size of the fish gets bigger every time, right?).

We love you, Gromp. Happy Birthday, wherever you are!

It’s funny, living in a new state. Learning new towns. Learning new sayings, ways of being, games.

Here’s a few of the things I’ve learned about living in the South.

… Chicken and waffles. Is a thing. . . that apparently you eat together.

…”I’m gonna tear your tail up” is something akin to getting a spanking. I think. Or there are a whole lot of people with tails down here….

…Be wary of two kids playing in a kiddie pool screaming “PRAISE JESUS!” If you ask them what they are playing, they might just tell you “We’re playing Baptism!” And if you’re religiously awkward, you will have no response except to nod and smile. Just sayin’…

… A “Come to Jesus Meeting” is something like telling someone how it is, or how it needs to be.

…Acceptable nicknames to call anyone, even if you’ve just met them, (and yes even if they are your therapist): baby, boo, honey, sugar

…Everything can be fried. Everything.

…There is a use for the phrase “all y’all”

…People really are more friendly down here. And gas is cheaper. And that, I really, really love.

Have a good day, y’all!

Please welcome Casey’s Dad, Jim to the blog for the day! This man can tell a story in person that will make you laugh until you cry. He’s going to be a wonderful Grandfather, and we are so excited he was willing to write some words down!

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I was born on a farm  in Windham, Maine.  I was the youngest of four sons.  Being brought up on a farm, you gain a good work ethic at a very early age which continues throughout your life.

It wasn’t all work on the farm; you seemed to find the time to play baseball, basketball, and of course fishing and hunting.  Again this seems to follow you throughout your life; I played basketball and baseball in junior high and high school and enjoy fishing and hunting to this day.

When I was sixteen, I finally got up the courage to ask a girl out; this was a girl I had known most of my life in school as well as in the great-uncle’s hayfield.  She said okay and five years later we were married and have been for forty-one years.   She became a registered nurse and I became a construction worker.

In the late 1970s we decided to add to the family so we had Casey and shortly after we had Katie.  This was just the beginning because they both had friends and we had a pool and a boat.   With the pool, we always had an extended family and with the boat we saw dolphins and whales, caught and released full sized sharks and of course caught plenty of fish to eat.  We tried our hands at lobster trapping and Casey learned to drive the boat to a lobster buoy in the roughest of weather so all I had to do was reach over the side to grab the buoy and start the winch.
Lobstering isn’t all it’s made out to be; one year on Casey’s birthday he took two of his best friends lobstering with us.  That day we caught 28 lobsters but, because of the size or being an egg producing female, all 28 went back in the water.  We stopped at Pizza Hut on the way home to get something to eat; it didn’t taste like lobster but, if I remember right, it was very good pizza.
Getting back to my upbringing on the farm, it was inevitable that I needed my own to keep me busy.  My wife and I bought forty acres of land and built a house, garage, and barn.  We had dairy cows, beef, pigs, and chickens; and of course, a large vegetable garden.  As our careers got busy we cut back to the garden and chickens.
As Casey and Katie headed for their teens they helped with getting the hay in and putting up the winter’s wood.  They may have complained a little at the time but, can look back as a job well done.
As I found time for enjoyment in my youth, Casey and Katie did as well.  Whether it was around the pool, fishing on the ocean, or ice fishing the lakes and ponds in the winter —we always enjoyed ourselves.  We cross country skied and learned to build a fire in the snow to cook hamburgers and hot dogs; again, no big deal but something they can teach their children.
Its obvious Casey and Katie learned how to enjoy themselves as well as have a very good work ethic.  They both have super spouses and all have quality jobs.

In closing, at nearly 63 years old, what I miss most after the kids grew up is having all the laughter of children around, so hurry up and get me some grandchildren.