Dear Leslie (4)

Dear Leslie,
Banner is four years old, which means you have been gone for that long now. Time stands still for you, but for us it keeps marching along, and it's even hard to remember how long it's been since we last spent time together. So, I rely on the age of my oldest baby to remind me of how much you have missed, how many years you've not been able to hold him, play with him, watch him grow, how many family events and milestones you aren't here for. I have so much to tell you, but I know you already get it all - you are definitely still very much a part of our lives and our family, so there's no way you really need me to type all this out. But, for my sake, I like to jot down my thoughts to you each year, to reflect on how you are still a part of us, and to let my babies know how much you are missed.

Sam and I know how much we miss you. The months pass by quickly now, and sometimes we get so busy, it's hard to take a minute to just breathe and to focus on "mourning" you. You are interwoven into our conversations and into our memories though, so we don't really NEED those moments anymore. But, sometimes, it just catches us off-guard. Sometimes, we will just be sitting alone together on the couch, and the thoughts of you are too big to hold back. Sam will always need those moments to just miss you - to wish for you - to recognize you really aren't here and how very much he can't stand not having you close.

I recently went back through some old audio files and saw your old messages. I listened to them, and it was hard to believe those messages weren't left just days ago because it still feels like that. Your voice is still crystal clear in my head, and your laugh, your smile, your annoying rambling, your hug . . . all still so fresh. Still so very hard to wrap our brains around the fact that you simply aren't here.

You aren't here to laugh with Banner or to tickle Quinn. You aren't here to hear their funny expressions or their clever thoughts. Oh my God, they are special kids, and you are missing it. You would be head-over-heals in love with both of them, Leslie, and they would be with you as well. But, they know you. They recognize your pictures, they ask about you, they question why you died or where you are now. You are not far from their minds, even if they barely knew you when you were alive. It's hard to not think of you when we hear something they say that would knock your socks off or when Quinn makes a certain face during swim lessons that looks JUST.LIKE.YOU!

And, yet, another big milestone coming without you here. Your fifth grandson grows in my belly. You're not here to feel him move inside my belly - the way you'd wait patiently with your hand on me for Banner's jabs and rolls. You'll miss his birth and meeting him for the first time. You'll miss Banner and Quinn learning to be big brothers to another sibling, learning to share a room, learning to accept and love another little creature who will be a best friend to them. You'll miss holding the newest member of our family and watching how gracefully or how horribly we handle three kids! Undoubtedly, you'd have your opinions and you'd let us know them - probably laughing at our stress while still telling us how great we are doing.

And while I know you are still such a part of our lives and you already "know" these things, you are missing Miles's last year in elementary school. You are missing seeing the incredible big brother he has become to Colby and how my boys adore him. You are missing Colby's year in Kindergarten and how sweet he has become when he plays with Banner and Quinn. I know you would adore them and cherish your time with all 4 of these beautiful blue-eyed boys of yours. I miss that FOR you.

Yet, time marches on, and we carry you with us. Just a few nights ago, I overheard Banner during bath time. Sam was bathing the boys, as usual, and Banner said, "I don't love Bubbie anymore because she died." It was hard to hear the pain in Sam's voice as he probably held back tears when replying to his son, "You're right, she died. But, we can still love her. You love Mommy, and if Mommy weren't here, you'd still love her, right?" Banner quickly agreed. And while I understand Banner's logic and appreciated his abstract thoughts, I was hurting for Sam to have to respond to such a comment. Inside, I know Sam misses you and loves you and wants his sons to love you forever. . . and he most desperately still wants his mommy. Oh, it's so hard to feel the loss and pain Sam feels, a pain that often goes undiscussed or gets numbed with the everyday busy-ness. But, in those moments, when our boys talk about you or ask about you or question death, the pain of your absence is loud.

As we wrap up another year without you, another year taking in the shock of your sudden passing, another year of missed holidays and birthdays and milestones, please know how loved and missed you are, Leslie. I continue to hold up my promise to you to make every day a beautiful day and to be the best wife to your son and the best mother to your grandsons. There's nothing more important to me than keeping that promise.

Missing you always,
Amber