Father's Day

Happy father's day, honey.

Happy father's day to me. To you. And to the kids. It's tough, seeing this day dawn without you. We leave in a couple hours to go camping--did I tell you I'm taking the boys to a lake in Tennessee? We're meeting a group of widow/ers and their kids from my support group for 5 days. I'm leaving Brooklyn with your parents, which I'm sure she'll enjoy. She always gets doted on there, and I couldn't stand the worry of having her around all the water at the lake, so it works out better for me too.

I miss you, babe. I haven't felt you around much lately, I assume you're busy taking care of people whose needs are more pressing than my own. I get that, I've been coasting along for a while pretty well now. I've stayed busy enough that the pain--for now--seems to have subsided to the usual dull ache. It never quite goes away, but sometimes it's actually bearable. I know it's temporary, and eventually the crushing pain will come roaring up again to sit on my chest, but I've enjoyed the reprieve.

I wish you were here. I'm glad we're going camping today, it gives me an excuse to miss church. We didn't go last year, either, but this year I probably would have forced myself to take the kids if we weren't going out of town. I'm glad it worked out this way, and I don't have to cry through the kids singing 'Daddy's Homecoming' in sacrament meeting. Remember when I taught them that song, when we lived in Utah and Jeremy was 4? We sang it when you got home from work, and you said it was the cutest thing you'd ever seen. The primary kids have been practicing for the last couple weeks, and I cry every time I have to play through it for them. I'm not sure I could handle playing it in sacrament meetings with a straight face, and it's not exactly the kind of song you're supposed to cry through.

Honey, I love you. I miss you. I can't wait to see you again, and tell you all of these things while you wrap your arms around me and breathe in my scent, and I yours.