Happy Birthday my sweet baby boy. I love and miss you. The years pass, but…
We were driving home from dinner last night, just me and R. I found myself telling her "I love you." She responded, "I love you too," and the following discourse ensued:
Me: "How do you love me?"
R: "What do you mean?"
Me: "How do you know you love me? What do you feel? When do you love me?"
R: "Well....I love you when you snuggle with me at night. When you lay there and tickle me and even fall asleep with me. That's when I know I love you the most."
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I've been struggling with the big decisions recently. Where do we live? Where is my home? Where will I find happiness? Those types of decisions. I have mistakenly believed they were big decisions, when in fact they may have been small decisions. Since Ben died, I've tried to define my story, to understand my purpose. It is very humbling to contemplate that my story is as simple as a moment. My purpose as understated as one that elicits this response from a child: "I love you when you are with me. Just me and you. Alone. Together."
I've worried about paying for college, weddings, making their lives the most they can be. Finding the old happiness I had when Ben was alive. But, what if that is just the future and the past? What if the truth lies in the present moment? How could I have ever known it was so much simpler. As simple as "why I love you." Right now.