And so it is

So you're gone. And I'm doing laundry.

It's so surreal. And so wrong. The mundane things I have to get done today all seem so ridiculous and wrong.

It's a Monday. Colin is at preschool. Christopher and I were at the church in a meeting. I knew that a phone call from your home instead of from your cell phone wasn't a good thing. I didn't answer it. I couldn't. It wasn't fair to Curt to make him leave a message to call him back, but I had to know if it was him, and if he was just telling me that you slept peacefully before I could talk.

"Call me back."

I knew.

I knew this morning when I sat in front of the fish tank. I already felt you missing. Gone. Your fish danced through the water in front of me, and I mourned that you would never see my tank. I am so proud of that tank. Your fish. Your fish live with me now, and I care for them as best as I can. Just like you taught me to.

There are so many things I do exactly the way you taught me to, not the least of which is trying to parent like you showed me.

You made me want to be a mother.

Seeing you blossom into motherhood, knowing what a genius you are, watching as you continued to work and be a fantastic mother - made me want it all too. I wanted a family. You said, "Of course you do." I'll never forget your unwavering belief in me. You knew I would want, and should have, a family.

You always believed in me before I ever believed in myself.

"Of course you can." How many times did you say that to me?

My heart. I don't know how I'll put the pieces back together without you to hold me through it. You always held me through it all. And now, I have to do it without you.

I haven't had to do anything without you since I was 13 years old.

So I sit with those guppies, and I think of you. I try and think how you would get through. But of course, you were always the strong one. I was the flake. You were the rock and I was the willow.

I don't know what I'm going to do without you.