I went by your grave today.
I stood there in the cold air with the wind whipping the hood on my jacket, and I let the tears and the wails roll out of me. Sometimes they stay inside for too long and it seems they eat away at my inside. I brought some roses and a pink lady apple. Your favorite kind of apple. I would like to say I brought it for you, but you're not there. I know you're not there. It's just your body. That damn cancer-ridden body. The body I wish I could touch. It's there, but you're not. Yet where else do I go to be near you? I want to feel close to you, to give you a gift, to write you a valentine note and tuck it under your pillow. I want to cook naked spaghetti noodles for you. I want to watch you lick the icing off a cupcake. I want to see you catch Daddy's pancakes on Saturday morning. I want to braid your hair. I want to share a bag of Haribo gummy bears with you. I would do anything to hear you laugh. One day, I know. Just not soon enough. Do you know how much I love you? Does God tell you? I often remind him. Every time I ask Daniel what we should pray for, he wants to pray for you. So we often ask God to tell you that we love you. Last week, he asked me, "Mom, when can we go to heaven?" I replied, "Oh, buddy. Soon, I hope. Soon. When do you want to go to heaven?" "Now," he said. "I miss Katie." Yep. Daniel and I just have a deep desire to be there. We all do. We miss you. We all feel a bit incomplete without you here. Annie wonders when she will feel normal again. What's normal? Whatever it was that we used to call normal is gone. We will never feel that again. No matter how much I am able to enjoy the moments of this life, I will always have a little bit of sadness. You were not at the cemetery today. I didn't expect you to be. In the brokenness of this world, though, some days I just don't know what else to do. But you no longer live in brokenness. And that makes me really happy for you. We are so excited to see you, Katie. One day soon. Just not today.
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