Just A Thought About Christmas

I don’t need presents.  I suppose there was a time in my childhood when I thought I needed gifts, but that time has long since passed.  Approaching 30, I certainly don’t feel like I need gifts now.

But it’s hard to forget the special magic that you injected into every Christmas by getting me something I didn’t know what I wanted or needed.  You had your own way of doing it, too.  I keep kicking myself, I took so much time for granted.  I never appreciated it enough at the time.  It’s hard to describe the feeling that I get when I’m thinking about it now… how there were always thoughtfully chosen gifts.  Some were your way of pulling together the families, uniting us in a little club (Pandora), some were your way of injecting your own artsy style into our wardrobes (scarves, clothes), and some were for pure fun (cameras, computers, decorations).  It always amazed me how you managed to capture everybody’s perfect personality with your offerings.  I am resigned to the fact that you had a talent that I will never, ever possess. 

Gift-giving was so special to you and it’s always been a source of anxiety for me, so I hope that you never felt dampened by my Grinchy attitude.  I don’t know why it doesn’t come as naturally to me. 

And for as much as I never needed presents, and certainly don’t need them now, I do miss the excitement of watching you watching me on Christmas morning.  I think I’ll always wonder what you would have gotten me each year, if you were still here.

Daisy by Marc Jacobs

I wore a spritz of Daisy by Marc Jacobs today, and I can’t stop smelling it on my wrist.  It reminds me of a warm hug from you and it takes me back to when you were close enough for one. 

Some of the reflexes don’t go away.  I still pick up the phone to call or text you.  I still expect to see your face in a recent family photo.  I still expect you to show up at a family function. 

Aunt Kimmy’s wedding photo from Marathon Key last thanksgiving is the calendar picture for November, and it’s so full of people we love and smiles and sunshine and sand, and it’s just missing your smiling face.  The bright beacon of your presence, for me, is the spray of flowers on the arch in the background… your idea for blue and orange flowers.  It was such a magical week of grieving, healing, marriage, celebration… I wish we could go every year.  I always feel so close to you at the beach.

And now we’re planning my bachelorette party, and the wedding details are ironing themselves out—and it’s all happening and I just wish you were here for it all. 

Still Gone

It’s the quiet, unassuming occasions that hit me the hardest.

I’m no longer lost on a weird journey of figuring out how I got where I am—whether the year milestone had anything to do with it or not, remains unclear.  However, I’ve found that Katie’s words are true: it’s gotten better.  Okay, maybe not better, but easier.  Or maybe not even easier… but some other word that more accurately describes the act of feeling drastically changed but, simultaneously, exactly the same—only different. 

Captain’s log day 405 since you’ve been gone, and still I haven’t gotten so much as an email from God with His reason for all of this. 

My breath still gets caught in my throat when I reach for the phone to call or text you. 

And I wish so much that you were going to be physically here for our wedding day.  It hurts very deeply to know how much you would be enjoying the planning, as well.  I just stuck a picture of you on the inside cover of the wedding binder. 

I miss you.  Very, very much. I just really wish you were still here.