I think about you most at night.
It usually starts when putting Davis to bed. Reading a book you read to us as kids, some of them the same exact copies, with your faded handwriting adorning the inside covers. Singing him songs, remembering the reassuring voice that was always there to calm me. Saying his prayers, where you are always first on his list.
Every night, I tell him everything special he sees in the world is you smiling down on him. I ask you to watch over us and there's never any doubt that you do, every single day.
After he's asleep and the house grows quiet, so does my mind. In that space, when reflecting on the day that has been, it's hard not to be able to share the highs and lows of parenthood with you...to say you were right in every piece of advice you gave me.
This month brings so many anniversaries- our first Mother's Day without you, your and Dad's anniversary, two birthdays, and of course, the day you passed away one year ago. As difficult as these days will be, we have also been blessed with a new baby. In Harrison's face and pure goodness, I'm reminded constantly of your presence and the example you left all of us.
We don't miss you any less nor has the hurt subsided at all, but we carry more of you with us - your love, your wisdom, your eccentricities, your warmth.
The grief still hits just as hard, out of nowhere and unexpectedly debilitating at times. But every night, when it's calm and it's easier to remember, I am so thankful for all you gave and continue to give us.
Good night, mom. I love you. I miss you.