your birthday

 You would have been 52. You would have been beautiful still. You would have spent today playing with Polly, taking a trip to Starbucks, and to a craft store for yarn and birthday shopping and we would have had a family meal and desert and maybe watched a movie you liked. It would have been lovely. 

Instead it's painful. Just another painful reminder of your not being here. Your loss has left the most gaping hole in our lives. Your presence touched so much that you didn't even realize. I still ask God to bring you back sometimes, even though I know He won't. Last night I dreamed that I had just gotten back from a long trip and I ran to you when I saw you and I hugged you and you picked me up in your arms even though I have always been several inches taller than you since teenagerhood and you had never done that while living. In the dream you scooped me up and hugged me tight and swished me around like a child. It felt like home in a way nothing else has since you got sick. I miss your hugs, I miss your voice, I miss your loud laughter that would turn heads. I miss your piano playing, I miss your singing, I miss Jeep rides with you, I miss playing with your long blonde soft hair. I miss you. I wish you hadn't of died.