You don't know what you've got til it's gone

When you lose someone you love, it's true that life goes on. It just goes on in a way that's so foreign you must keep reminding yourself you're in reality.

Yesterday was the 26th anniversary of my father's death. He died young of a heart attack and I remember how he used to joke that we'd all hang out at his grave for the first few months and then we'd stop coming around. That part is true, but I've never forgotten him. Where my mother's death is concerned, I can't imagine a day where I won't think of her.

A family member once said that the party began when my parents showed up and ended when they left. They were a force, a passionate and dynamic duo. This makes it even harder to live without. It's the little things. How she'd get such pleasure out of her first cup of coffee in the morning - one we always had together. A neck rub when I'd been sitting at the computer for hours, her laughter over the smallest of things, her tap dancing whenever she thought I could use a smile.

These lost moments make me think about the the things I take for granted each day. The warmth of my cats pressed against by body in bed, purring so loud it keeps me awake. Bryan's guitar playing that annoys me at times. The sand blowing in my doors creating a constant flow of dust. If one day, these things were gone, these things that I find irritating at times, oh how I'd miss them. How I would long to hear Bryan "noodle" on the guitar once more. How I'd wish for the sound of purrs or the sand on my feet when I crawl into bed.

It's only when you lose something that you realize how impossible, how unbearable it is to live without. So I go about my days, often numb to the beauty of the ocean on my front yard, wishing to be somewhere else where the memories aren't smothering me. But no matter where I live, life as I knew it will never be the same. So I work to find a different version of the life I used to know. The one that included the most wonderful woman on the planet in it.