Someone told me earlier today that it was "your time to go" and that they had left us alone during our "initial period of grieving." Like now, at almost 4 weeks, we should be nearing the end of our pain or shock or anger or disbelief. Guess what? We don't even have your ashes back, let alone your death certificate or a cause of death, and while it may not be all-encompassing (at least today), we're far from over our initial grief. We still have almost all of those heartbreaking "firsts" to get through, maybe when we survive those, we can say that we'll be okay.
I think about you all the time, I talk to you, even if it's just in my own head all the time, too. I still start to text you because I haven't heard from you & I wonder what you're up to & if you're okay - it breaks me anew every time I realize that I'll never hear from you again & that you aren't okay, because you're dead. I see the dogs do something cute & I think about how it would make you smile, and I miss your smile so, so much.. More at times than I miss your face & your voice.
We went to a bluegrass festival on Sunday that you'd have loved, there were so many groups you'd have enjoyed & so much great music. We fully intend to go back next year, we really enjoyed it, a lot.
The dogs were playing tug together with the crab you bought them a little while ago, it would have made you laugh. I tried to get a picture of it, but Emmy wanted to get involved (I still think of you telling them not to "get the jacket involved" every time I say that), so I couldn't. She calls the crab "crabbit" and pretends to be afraid of it. It makes me so sad to know that she'll never remember you, or meeting you & how you spoiled her rotten with Halloween candy when you did. That you won't get to see her grow up, or any of your nieces or nephews. You were such an awesome uncle to them all.