I talked to Brooklyn on May 10th. She returned my call from May 8th. She asked me right off, "Mimi, did you remember that the other day when you called was a special day?" It was the day her daddy died 3 years ago.
"Yes, baby. I remembered."
"Did you remember?"
"Were you sad?"
"Good, because daddy wouldn't want you to feel sad. He'd want you to be happy today. Because he loves you very very much."
And then we went on to discuss the joys of her life, passing classes with flying colors, enjoying her new room in her new house. Little things.
May 8th. Brooklyn calls it a "special day". It's a day she finds important to remember. A day that changed her life forever. As time passes, we each find ways of coping with our losses. Life moves on while death lingers in the shadows of yesterday. We carry with us memories of love, happiness and joy; they mingle with our present and give us peace.
I don't miss you any less, my son. In fact, I think I miss you more. But I am comforted by all you were to me while you were here. Sometimes I get scared because I'm afraid I'll forget how you looked, or sounded. But it's these times God brings to mind a particular expression, a scene that captures your essence and a word you spoke so long ago. And I smile for a while. I love you, Mom.