One month

Dear Susan,

Suddenly, February is over, and I'm back at the Presbyterian Women Coordinating Team meeting this morning. The first Monday of every month. The last one was the meeting I was in when Curt called to tell me that you had passed.

Now it begins. The time in my life when I do things without you.

February was just a jumble of days in which I wished you back to this earth with every breath I had.

March has to be the time when I start to move forward again.

The time I spent at home wasn't healing like I hoped it would be, but it was enlightening. I feel like I know what I want my path to be now. I know what I want for myself and my family.

Thanks to you, I also know that I can do it.

While I was in Mississippi, there were four planets visible in the night sky. I grabbed my daddy's binoculars one night and headed outside. Momma lives in the country now, so I thought it would be a great view. It wasn't. It was cloudy every night I was there.

What a metaphor for us and our home state.

I think of things like this - things that I want to tell you - and I tell them to you anyway. People have told me to still talk to you. That you are still with me. I'm starting to figure out what they mean by that.

I miss you, Susan. I miss you every damn day. But I know what I'm going to do without you now. I have plans, plans that you helped me make - plans that I know you are proud of me making.

I will be better. I promise. And I will find a way to make sure you are always with me.