Hi Sweetness,

It’s been so long since I’ve written. And but a moment since I’ve thought of you. These last months have been a whirlwind. That white space I am so desperate to add to my calendar seems more elusive, the stronger my heart longs for it. Each amazing and terrible thing seems to tip my world in one direction and then another.

One of the tips was a screeching halt. I answered the phone one morning, 2 days after Christmas. It was your A Colleen. My favorite friend. And she was crying and chattering, her voice rising and falling with emotion. ...I didn’t believe him...I made him give me the officer’s name...I called him and he told me it wasn’t a joke...and BRIAN DIED... it can’t be true, it can’t be true. I think it’s probably true.

And it is true.

I’m sure you knew it long before she did. I’m sure you and Pops greeted him with the Mines fight, okay drinking, song. But not until Marno got her hugs in. We all know he was her favorite. At least that’s what he told us.

Jen, it was so sudden, so devastating. One moment, he was on his spin bike at the gym, warming up for his class, the same class he’d done a couple of times a week for 8 years, and the next moment he was gone. I remember, a few weeks before you died, you asked me a question. Would it be easier to have the death of a loved one be sudden, rather than endure the diminishing of a loved one toward death. One allowing some measure of mental and emotional preparation, with its accompanied pre-mourning. The other a blissful approach of ignorance with quick and sure strokes of loss. At the time, I now know, it was a disguised attempt to apologize to me for the hurt I endured while watching you push through treatment, only to succumb to the beast anyway. As if that would ever be necessary. I answered you with a truthful I. Don’t. Know. I still don’t. Any loss, sudden or extended, expected or surprise is exactly that-Loss. Colleen and I confirmed in one of our conversations the absolute and terrible reality that while very little in this life is final, most things can be amended, changed or modified, death is the ultimate no do-over.

So now I mourn again, or rather more, as again implies previous completion of the first round. I mourn the loss of my sweet, sassy, generous, kind, honest, loyal, smart, funny, musical, endearing, bossy little brother. I’ve never remembered a time in my life when he wasn’t in it. I have no memories of before Brian, but I will now have memories of after Brian. He was that sweet little boy I read to, sitting on the side of the tub, while he was on the potty doing his business. He was that little brother I could convince to do the dishes, because I helped him set the table. He was that little brother, who made me so proud his senior year, after he was cut from the basketball team, he went to every game and cheered the team, and helped the rest of the crowd cheer the team. The best cheerleader ever. He was that little brother, who, every time, gave me the incredulous, “what am I, chopped liver?”  look when I went to their house and bee-lined for his wife, my bestie, sometimes walking right past him! Including the last time I saw him, the afternoon of Christmas Day. Mostly, though, I mourn Colleen's loss. Grief is so multi-layered. I have my own, personal, grief, but I have a connected grief. Grief for all my people who have their own personal grief. Layers upon layers upon layers.

Fast forward 5 month. How has it been 5 months? The little girls have a way of circling back to the reality of loss. Don't you remember when B did...? As if any of us could ever forget. As if any of us somehow should remember everything! We had a family wedding last weekend. The first family wedding "after Brian". He had a way of celebrating life that was so contagious. He would figure out a family love song to blanket the newlyweds with at the reception, after the wedding. Dawn figured out the perfect song to shower this couple with. 500 miles. An Irish love song. A Brian song. It was perfect. And heart wrenching.

Honey, I can't help but think of you as I face the next few weeks/months, IDK. I went into surgery to have a toe fixed and somehow have found myself facing treatment for breast cancer. I'm claustrophobic with the restrictions of life on a knee scooter. It's been 4 weeks and will be another 3, until I should have clearance to walk in the boot. I am as independent as it gets, where do you think you got it? Not only from your Dad! I'm struggling to get my planters planted. I can't easily get back to see my iris blooming and I really need a massage!! Just in time to go back into surgery to cut out the beast. I think about your bravery, your vulnerability, your single minded vision of the end prize. I also think of your fear, your sadness, the reality of your heart, mind and life growing smaller before my eyes. How has it been 5 1/2 years since I held you? 

But Sweet Girl, life keeps moving. We talked about the disconnect when big things are swirling around us, but the world keeps turning anyway. The sun rises and set. The moon passes through all it's phases. One season ends and the next one begins. Nothing skips a beat to match the skipped beats our hearts feel. So I move forward, too. I work, I connect, I think and try to pray. You know that's a tricky one. Somehow, I know He still gets it, but it would be nice to be able to pray without feeling a fraud. So I stick to what I know, Thankfulness.

I am thankful for seasons changing. For fragrant breezes, greens of every hue, birds nesting in Marno's birdhouse. I'm thankful for the warm of the sunrise, and the cool of the moonlight. I'm thankful for the flowers and sunset shades in the clouds. I'm thankful for prayer warriors who pray when I can't, who believe and cling and hold to truth. I'm thankful for tearful hugs and laughter over nonsense. I'm thankful for babies, newly born and those not yet born, and the sharing I get to experience as I watch in expectation. I'm thankful for puppies, yours and mine, who don't eat right, because I'm not home and who insist on the next treat, before the last is barely swallowed. I'm thankful for my people to share life with. Wonderful life: joy, milestones, celebration, growth. Mournful life: tears, longing, sadness, purple jobs. I'm thankful for life, struggles and triumph alike, for how would I recognize triumph without experiencing the struggle?

I love you, my sweet girl. Thank you for listening.

Hi Mom,

I’ve been thinking about you so much lately. Yesterday was the 4^th anniversary of your Angel Wings. How is that possible? Sometimes it feels like you’ve been gone forever, and sometimes it feels like if I pick up the phone and dial, you’ll answer with “Hi Ree” and everything will be as it was.

I could use a Mom hug right now. I can feel your hands in my hair. Smell your Estee'. See the fire of love, determination and connection in your eyes.

Mom, I have breast cancer. How is that real?? But it is. K and I met the surgeon today. Lovely woman. Bright, thoughtful, kind. A beautiful smile. And most important to me, she treated me as an intelligent person with thoughts of my own, ideas, plans, feelings.

If I could talk to you while you stroked my hair, I would tell you that it, not MY cancer, but THE cancer, is all the good things cancer can be, like slow growing, small, early and isolated, but it is insistent I address it in real time. I’ve been scheduled for conservative surgery in 3 weeks’ time, followed by radiation for 3-5 weeks. I have a couple of additional tests in the works, which may change that plan to a more aggressive surgery profile, but for now, we will start with the reasonable.

Mom, you and I know I’ve endured worse. And yet… I sit here a little numb, a lot mad, and not just a bit scared. But I also am thankful. I’m thankful for fancy diagnostics, with computers to assist and Drs who make it their life’s work to catch and call out and treat. I’m thankful for resources and space to do what needs to be done. I’m so very thankful I am not alone. I know I have legions who care. I have my Angels who are surrounding me, holding me, begging for me. I know beyond any doubt that I am loved.

I learned many things when Jen was battling, and dying. The biggest thing I learned: Love is everything. Love is all there is.

I Love You

Are things really just things?

When my Dad had a stroke, in October, 2001, I learned about the power "things" have over your life. Things like cars and houses and clothing and chairs and tools. The car that he wanted all his life and finally got, wasn't just a car, it was Dad's Cadillac. Sitting in his recliner became equivalent to a hug from him. The suit he had tailored especially for him, because he could finally afford to do that and it fit him so nicely, somehow was filled with him, smelled like him, brought him to mind. 

Dad lived for over 10 years after his stroke, but he never drove again, never worked in an office, came home for a short time to live in a hospital bed and wheelchair, assisted by my aging mother, his partner for life, but didn't use his "things" in the same way, if at all. 

I also learned about the pull places have on you. How you define home, what you consider your neighborhood, your grocery store, your favorite restaurant, your hair stylist. At "home", you know where the scissors are, because they are always there. You can find your way to the bathroom in the dark, because you've done it hundreds of times. Your neighborhood is where your car knows the way to the grocery store, because it's been there a million times and the bagels are just around this corner.

It was difficult to watch the pull these "things" had on my mother. The insistence on keeping her home, though she was lonely and couldn't care for the house and the yard, was driven by the ownership. The identification with "these are my things, my place" dictated so much of her life, and my siblings', for the next 11 years. The sense of control she received from these inanimate objects was powerful and, in many ways, sustaining. 

The lesson I thought I learned from that time was that I wanted to make sure things were never more important than people. I wanted to be able to disassociate my things from the equation, when it came time to decide to do or change or leave or arrive. 

I knew then, I know now, that at some point I may be moving to live close to someone else, when work no longer dictates my domicile. Perhaps toward my son, to be closer, so he can take care of the little things an aging Mom can't do. Maybe there will be grandchildren with which to watch old Disney movies. I can dream...

And then my daughter died. 

And suddenly, all of her "things", her car, her home, her shoes and purses and card stamping supplies, took on a life of their own. Because they were hers. Because she chose them. Because she touched them and used them and wanted them in her world and in her space.

I have acquired many of her things. I've brought boxes and boxes and boxes of her things home. I now drive her car. Because, apparently, things are not just things. I have a custom closet I outfitted to hold her stamping and card making supplies. I've never made cards. Never had time or interest or reason. But this has nothing to do with the fact that I now have the supplies necessary to make enough cards to fill a small shop! My beautiful engineer found her creative outlet in the cards and I just couldn't let it all go.

The women in the family and many of her close girlfriends have one of her purses. (She single handedly kept Coach in business.) I wear a special bracelet and ring, frequently. Her shoes have found homes, helping women find jobs, or supporting fellow cancer warriors, or on a shelf, in an office, because just seeing them brings her closer, for just a minute.

Recently, my Son in Law has taken a step toward his future. He has started a new job. In Canada. For a 3 year timeframe. And it only makes sense that he is moving all of his things and renting out his house. My daughter's house. And with it goes her neighborhood, where we went shopping when she felt good, during her treatments. Her grocery store, that I learned while living with her as her caretaker. Our favorite little restaurants and treat shops. The church they got married in. 

While preparing for this move, this young man, that I love as my own, commented that the hardest thing is that EVERYTHING requires a decision. Going through this house, going through his wife's things, "a simple pen requires a decision." There was a silly little statue of a gnome under a mushroom. He just looked at me with a question. What do I do with this? Is it important? Why is it important? Why did she have this? What do I not know??? I just told him it was a silly statue, she just liked it, so she got it. It didn't have any cosmic meaning. I don't think... 

So his house, her house, is not their house anymore. Someone else will be living there. Different furniture, different artwork, different pastimes and meals and schedules and things. I've been thinking about her house for a while. I knew it would be hard for it to go, but I think, now that it is finished, it will be OK. It's the getting there... Watching the procession of her things. Deciding what to keep, what not to keep. And why...

I brought Jen's wedding dress home. I don't know what to do with it, I just know it has to stay here. Until... I have no idea... It now hangs in my basement. I should have it cleaned. I think I need to have it boxed. I'm not sure I can see the dress bag over and over. I want to rearrange my thinking about that dress. She DID get to wear it. She DID look beautiful in it. She DID have a wedding, and tho it wasn't everything she wished for, before leukemia, it was more that any of us could have hoped for, in 5 days. And I'm so very thankful she already had the dress. It was/is the perfect dress for her. It was HER dress.

And I brought treasure boxes home. Silly things. Her ID from Take Your Daughter to Work Day, when she was about 10. And a golden rule marble, and some charms, and some of Nana's jewelry. In fact, one of the treasure boxes was Nana's jewelry box. Little things my daughter cherished. For no other reason than that they were important to her, in a moment of her life. Moment don't have to be big, to be important.

Things apparently aren't just things. They are the tools of connection. They are the language with which we explain ourselves, the method we use to communicate our choices and passions and personality. Things spark conversation and thought and memory, evoke emotion and drive and purpose. 

And when things are all you have left, besides the memories and the love, things can be very important.

Focus isn't always a choice...

Rose quartz, moss rock, caramel apple, being a Mom, leisurely pace, no requirements

Pedicure before dinner and a movie, grand pups, sweet young woman whom I love

Mom, little sister, long drive, rain, Dove chocolate, decisions being made, or almost

Doing nothing productive because I can, Bones, No Bake Cookies

Sister in Law=BFF, lunch on the patio, pictures of France, time to catch up, Guinness and Car Bombs, Son in Law and his sister and best friend, baseball game, sunsets, hubby is home

Star Trek, birthday movie, Mexican food and sharing salsa, time with twin, family visitors, dinner out

3 walks this week, little back pain, nerve pain is resolving, ankle is better, joints looser: warmth or movement or sleep or med related...hmm

Perfect biscuit, pumpkin colored thread, clean laundry, travel arrangements made, edamame caviar and watermelon, new grilling recipe, Riesling/Chardonnay, Rummicube, hug in the evening breeze, sweet old lady sleeping through the night, early morning text-son is coming home

Birthday without a cake, even though cake isn't a favorite, because no one to celebrate with. Mother's Day without the kids isn't really Mother's Day.

Hubs gone for the week, doing something he doesn't want to do. It's OK when I travel, but not so much when he travels without me.

Broken toenail the day after a new pedicure

Hard decisions about and for Mom. fading inch by inch. Chest pain, unhappy, lonely, bored. No air. Natural but so hard

Missing, missing, missing. Daughter, Son, Husband, Mom, friendship, celebrations, carefree, innocence, little kids, trust, God

Can't call out my kids teacher anymore, sure wish I could. 

Tired and sad and lonely and bored and confused and unable to help

Sleeping and not sleeping, eating for the sake of eating, headache and tight shoulders

Tears every day, over nothing, over everything

Crying myself a headache...and a sore throat...and hoping the neighbors don't hear...and grand pup worried

So much to be thankful for. So much that hurts my heart.

The good and the bad, the focus is supposed to be a choice. It isn't always...

Scents and Memories

I've heard that the sense of smell is the most primal of all the senses. Going back to the very beginnings of our beginnings. I know smells are powerful memory makers.

There are smells in my life that are constants, either reminding me of people or places or things. Estée is my mom. I love hugging her hello and smelling the cloud of Estée around her. Many times I've purchased Estée for her, in one form or another, whether lotion or powder or perfume, to perpetuate the security and love associated with that cloud.

My older sister was a unique blend of Youth Dew and cigarette smoke. I'm not much for Youth Dew on its own, and who likes the smell of cigarette smoke? But the 2 together, ahhh! Made me smile and breathe deep. It was my sister. That's a smell I'll probably not smell again, since she is gone and it was a unique combination.

White shoulders is a long time Friend. She's worn it since we were in high school, I think, and I never smell it, at a perfume counter or out in public somewhere, without thinking of her.

Hubs wears Halston Z, I think. I don't remember the name, I just know the bottle. And the smell. That smell says he is mine and I am his. It's speaks of history and shared experiences and love.

Perfume is purposeful. The manufacturers work very hard at catching your brain through your nose. But there are other smells. Onions and garlic sautéing in olive oil equals "hope you're hungry!" Pancakes cooking in bacon grease is Pops. Fresh from the oven bread fills the primal "ah, my belly is full!" need. You know, that whole "bread is life" thing. Well, it is for me!

Other smells, a family one, A&D ointment. I know, empirically, that fish oil and vitamins is not a pleasant smell, but for me, the smell of A&D means comfort. It's the relief for the chapped nose of a cold, the ahhh of a scab being soothed from the pull of healing, the comfort of the covering of dry hands or feet or elbow or lips. It also always stirs feeling of love. I now put on my own A&D, but as a kid, it was the gentle hand of love that smeared the comfort.

Pine resin is mountain rest for me. Camping, hiking, sitting in a lounge chair watching a Yellow Bellied Sapsucker fledge from its nest in the hollow of a tree. Campfire smoke is S'mores and guitar music accompanied by voices, meaningful (or silly) conversation and engagements. The smell of horses is the Stock Show and the barns and rabbits and clowns and rodeo. Childhood discovery.

Before my first child was born, I actually thought about, for quite a while, and made a conscious decision about, which baby lotion I wanted to use on my children. There were really only 2, Johnson's and Baby Magic. It never occurred to me to use a non-baby lotion. Probably a good thing, or the decision process might have been agonizing. Anyway, I remember being in a store, in the baby aisle and going back and forth, between the bottles of Johnson's and Baby Magic baby lotion trying to decide. Johnson's was the most popular at the time, I like the smell, it brought to mind visions of babes in arms. Baby Magic was different, almost a little spicy. That was my choice, I didn't want my babies to smell like everyone else's babies, so I chose the less popular, little bit spicy, scent of Baby Magic...and that was all I used. Every day. On both of my kids. Marking them with a perfumed baby lotion that tied them to me in just one more way. When I headed to the hospital to have my second child, I took a cloth diaper that my daughter used as a lovey and smeared it with Baby Magic. Even as I anticipated the birth of the coming child, I knew it would be a while, maybe even a whole day, (gasp!) before I would see my baby, my little girl, again, and I wanted to take a piece of her with me to the hospital, her lovey with her smell.

A few years ago, my Sister-in-Law, my best friend, walked in my house, took a deep breath and said, "Ahh, your house smells like you!" Really? I wasn't cooking. I didn't have candle burning. I hadn't just taken a shower. Really? I asked her what the smell was. Was it my hair spray, my favorite potpourri, the cleaning supplies I use on my sink?  She said it was none of these, or maybe all of them. She recognized my house, because it smelled like me. All that is me.

I never fully understood that until yesterday. Yesterday, I walked in my daughter's house to play with her dogs for a minute while I had a break in my day. She's been gone for five months, now. And her house no longer smells like her. Was it the shower gel she used? One of several perfumes she liked? Was it the cologne her husband used when he would take her out, to dinner or a friend's wedding? Her various lotions, always appropriate to the season? Was it the candle scents she preferred? Was it the cleaning products I used to keep her house safe for her? Was it the usual meals I cooked, like grilled cheese, or Mac and Cheese, that she could and would eat in those many months of treatments? I think it was all of those things. And because she is gone, those magical combinations of smells that mark her and her space as my daughter are gone.

I knew I missed seeing her face. I knew I missed feeling a hug. I knew I missed hearing her voice. I did not know that when I walked in her house, and it didn't smell like her anymore, that I would cry.

My baby boy is 25!

How is it possible that my sweet baby boy, my heart, is 25 years old? It was only yesterday, surely!

Oh Honey, I love you so much. I think about how I loved your baby self and it's hard to believe I could love you more than I did then, but I do. I know that still and always, my heart sings when I hear your voice or see you walk into a room.
 

It's difficult to hold a single thought as I think about the last 25 years. There has been a whole lot of living and a whole lot of loving that's rolled through those years.

I think about your sweet round baby legs, the extra roll hiding inside the leg of your diaper. I remember when you reached teenagehood, marveling that those sweet little pudgy legs could possibly have grown  into the hairy man legs you have now! I guess you'd look pretty silly as a grown man with fat baby legs!!

I remember so much of your young life in conjunction with your sister. Since you were only 17 months younger than she was, you 2 were basically a unit for a very long time. I couldn't let either one of you out of my sight, so you were together all the time. I distinctly remember, however, having you in the car by yourself when you were 2 or so. I didn't realize, until that drive, that you could talk! As in, full sentences, talk!! Because your sis did so very much talking, you just never had to. But once your voice was unleashed, wow!
 

And yet, you'd let her talk as much as she wanted. Remember, driving home from church? I'd ask you kids what you'd heard the priest say. You'd quietly sit there, making like you were thinking, and let her answer. And then you'd chime in with EXACTLY the same thing she said!!! You thought you were so sneaky. Sometimes, I'd hold her back and make you go first. Then the squirming would start!! Haha! But it did make you begin to pay attention, since you never knew when I would pull that on you!  
 

I remember baseball and street hockey, but you always loved swimming best. Such a little fish. And your bike. I think you could ride a bike when you were 3! You always had such a natural body awareness and strength. And you, much like your Dad, just presumed you could do anything you decided you wanted to do...and then did it.

You also were always a natural leader, even as a little one. I think your innate confidence and sense of self allowed you to lead and made others comfortable in following. I was always thankful for your equally strong innate sense of goodness, of right and wrong. That part of you that is from Pops. I sure wouldn't have wanted to figure out how to redirect you, had you decided to lead a gang or something!
 

You're so smart! Math and science, philosophy. I've always loved your writing. Your written voice sounds so much like your spoken voice, I can picture you saying what you write. That is also true of your Marno. You must have gotten that from her. I think back to elementary school. A couple of teachers thinking you were behind. They just didn't know you were uninterested! Haha! I'll never forget sitting in that conference with teachers, the principal, the building resource teacher. The BR teacher talked about testing you and how it was going along fine and then you just kind of hit a wall and she didn't quite understand what had happened. I just laughed. I knew EXACTLY what had happened. You were done, over it, finished! She didn't understand, because you maintained your charm, politeness, wit, really your "presence", and she said that when children were done, they usually threw the equivalent of a tantrum. Not you!! You would never be disrespectful or angry or uncooperative, on the surface, but you just took over the session and took it your own way. I'm not sure, but I don't think I've ever been more proud of you than I was that day, knowing that you were you and perfect and great, and unwilling to just be what someone else wanted you to be, just for the sake of conforming.
 

I remember taking you for your first audition, Rumplestiltskin. You wanted to try out, because a friend of yours had done a Missoula Children's Theater production the year before. We were in a gym, with probably 50 kids and their mothers. In a giant circle. They taught you all one line, "and I'll spin, and I'll spin, and I'll spin your hair to gold." Each child, in turn, said the line. Some with shyness, some with boldness, some with the giggles. And then it was your turn. You didn't just say the line, you ACTED the line. I felt the hush in the gym, the attention of the kids and adults alike, and I knew I'd be at the gym every day for reversals because I knew YOU were Rumplestiltskin! You were gone. Your first love, from then on, would be the stage!

Next was Peter Pan, after our big move. I knew then, too, during the audition, that the part was yours. You were so nervous. And so worried because we were camping that weekend, and you were afraid, if you didn't answer the phone if the director called you to offer you a part, that they'd just go on to someone else. You didn't understand, she would have hunted you down. YOU were Peter Pan! We drove into a pay phone, so you could call our answering machine. And then you just had to call Marno to tell her! Joy, pure joy. Yours and mine!

Lots of shows later, you've chosen the theatre as your life's pursuit! Costumes. You still love the acting. I was more than delighted to see you back on stage in the Mikado last spring. Now you are making your mark at Yale!! YALE! And you still are not content to just do what everyone else is doing. You are going to make the program your own. You're going to make it work for you. And in the process, you are touching a system and making it better! Who would have thought a simple spreadsheet would be enlightening?!
 

You are cream, you realize that, don't you. Cream always rises to the top. It is the best, the brightest, the most sought after. It is the prize. You are a prize!!!

My dear, sweet son. I love you more than I can say! I love you more than my heart can hold! Remember, when your sister died, we talked about the fact that rather than the heart feeling like it had a  hole, a missing piece, it really felt more like it was overflowing? A wellspring of love flowing out of the heart and filling the mind and body with the purity of love?  

My heart overflows with love for you! I love you with every thought and every fiber of my being. I love you with every breath.

ILYEM!!

Mom
 

Letter to Heaven

Hi Baby Girl,

How's your day? That sounds funny, but I'd really like to know. Does Heaven have day and night? Do you get to nap? You loved a good nap. Have you met any sweet little ones today. I can picture you greeting kids, as they arrive. You loved bright, well-behaved children, and I can only imaging that all little ones entering Heaven have no longer any reason to be grumpy, or disagreeable, or contrary or unhappy. Children, especially little girls, always thought you were a princess. I can only imagine that in the perfection of Heaven, you are, indeed, the image of Princess! I picture you, beautiful, perfect, happy, radiant and just shepherding the children about, holding hands, reading, singing. The children, I'm sure, love to hear you sing. You could Irish Step dance for them, too. You have the energy and the grace to dance all you want.

Your dad and I have had a busy weekend. We've deiced the drain spout, watering can by watering can of hot water. Your dad had the torpedo heater out, even! He does love his gadgets. As well as his big metal fire extinguisher.  Pressurized hot water! Crazy, but it worked. The new patio and deck are awesome, but there are some challenges that were not anticipated...

We watched Wild Card football off and on all weekend. The games were uninspired. I'm hoping the rest of the playoffs are a bit more exciting. It still fascinates me that you liked to watch football. Not all day long, any game, football, like your hubby and so many men, but still, you liked football. That is a conundrum. Prissy, girly you, liking football!

We got new bedroom furniture this weekend, too. Gorgeous and huge. We got a platform bed, the original intent was to have a bed that was a bit lower. Instead, it's higher!! I can see you laughing at us as we figure out how to make it work for the dogs!! All 5 of them, yours and ours.

Talked to your "Lil' Brother" today. He had a revelation: he'll be 25 in 2 weeks. Isn't that crazy?? He's all grown up. Well, mostly... I keep thinking that in a little more than a year, he will be older than you. How can that be? Unimaginable, but still...

I have to laugh at your hubby. You and he were perfect for each other. If for no other reason than the fact that you are both terrible texters!! It was always so funny to me, that you were an excellent communicator, except via electronics. I can't tell you how many times you didn't answer the phone, didn't return a voice mail, didn't respond to a text or email. I think you would answer in your mind and that was that. Or maybe you figured that you'd talk to whomever later, so you'd catch up then. I don't know, but your hubs is exactly the same. I'm actually a bit surprised when I get a response in a timely fashion!! 

I'm traveling this week. Frigid Idaho. You're here with me, though you know I'd much rather you were at home, on the couch, with Sophie on your lap, so I could call you on the phone and talk about nothing. Instead, I talk to you in my head all day long. I wish you'd answer me...

ILYEM!!!

Mom