I was complaining, as I often did. I had just finished with Nolan's second hearing check, and I was beyond frustrated that they wanted me to come back a third time "just to make sure," even though his readings were normal. I felt like they just wanted the money.
I was also 12 weeks pregnant and in the throes of the I'm-SO-HUNGRY-but-if-I-eat-anything-I'll-probably-see-it-again-soon period.
And you listened, and then told me that you weren't feeling well, so we could talk again later.
Only later never came.
Instead, the phone call I got was from Dad, saying you were being rushed to the hospital.
And then ten minutes after that, a phone call from Megan to say that you were gone.
Each moment from that day still haunts me. Even ten months later.
We celebrated Easter without you yesterday. Another holiday come and gone.
We visited at Grandma's house, and it was just as lively and LOUD as always, with belly laughs galore and grandkids running around everywhere, including my
But your laugh was missing. I could always pick it out above the roaring atmosphere.
How I miss that laugh.
Each time I told the story of Nolan eating the egg-dye pellet, I longed for your reaction.
I'm afraid that I'm getting used to you being gone. And I hate that.
I imagine Easter was pretty neat for you yesterday, being up there with the King and all.
And despite how selfish it makes me, I would so much rather have had you here.
Love you, Mom.