I Want Him Back. Please God

I miss the little whistle you'd do to get someone's attention. The little two note high low whistle. You used it the last time I spoke to you and it was a good conversation. I still use it to get the cat's attention because it's what he responded to best.

He misses you like hell.

So do I.

3 years ago today they sat me down and told me you weren’t going to be okay.

Not because of cancer or a heart attack.

Something stupid.

An accident.

I didn’t even know that the last time I spoke to you would be the last.

Somehow it wasn’t a fight.

Somehow, you complemented me for the first time in a long time.

It felt like a new start.

A tenuous truce.

And then you were gone.

Forever.

First snow without him.

I wish he'd yell at me to shovel the damn driveway.

How fucked up is that?

how do i become my own father? - Alexander Anthony Mar

I brought you a coffee with one cream. Just how you like it. From McDonald's, not Starbucks because I know you hate Starbucks and McDonald's is your favorite.

If there is an afterlife, I hope that leaving it here for you means you can enjoy it.

I miss you

Happy birthday.

You got hurt suddenly, fatally.

I had my nose in the newest Andy Weir book and I was obsessed with it. The moment I heard my brother stomp on the floor above me, his door fly open, and the sound of an ambulance over a speakerphone lives in my brain.

It won't ever leave, though I didn't know it at the time.

You got hurt... A lot.

Like chronically.

On the way out the door I grabbed my book.

I figured you'd be okay.

I planned on a late night in the hospital, letting my mom go home to sleep while the kept you for observation and, hey, I could read my book.

I never opened that book again.

I returned it to the library unfinished.

I should have raked the pine needles with you. I should have gone to dinner with you.

I should have been there when it happened

I should have been there.

I don't want to be in this year. I want to go back. He's not in this year I want to go back please

I know he's gone.

I love with the ramifications of that every day.

But I often catch myself referring to him like he's still here.

It's not out of delusion.

It's just hard to turn almost three decades of "is" to "was"

And each one twists the knife.

Please come back

Please

I miss you