The other day I noticed my aunt had posted “It’s been four years, and I still miss you, Dad” on her Facebook. Had it really been four years since I talked to my Grandpa? Had it been four years since I got that horrible phone call that brought me to my knees with tears? Had it been four years since I crafted a speech that attempted to hold all that I loved and knew about my Grandpa? Had it been four years since we all learned that my dad and I are not allowed to sit by each other during funerals? As though a funeral is so much more serious than a mass. I’m just saying, they knew better.
I sat there nursing the memories and the pain. I replayed our last conversation, which was on my birthday. I could hear him say my childhood nickname; he was the only one who used it even after I was all grown up and everyone else had stopped. I remembered our on-going game of tag and his love of sweets and The Roadrunner and The Coyote. I mourned the fact that my boys will never know my Grandpa and that he never held Tornado A. He loved kids, especially little ones.
But mourning turns to life as it should, and I realized “Holy Crap, the blog is four years old!”
Which led me to think about everything that has happened in four years. Most of it I didn’t expect. Makes me wonder what the next four years will be like.
A move to Tucson, much sooner than expected. Another baby boy. Tons of penis stories. A real friendship with my baby brother. A whole circle of mom friends to help watch kids and go to dinners with. My marriage dying a slow, painful death. Separation, which will be two years in November. Figuring out how to be a single parent on call all the time. Awesome pen pals! My mother’s breast cancer fight. My skin cancer scar. A few articles published. A stupid car accident. A boyfriend. The boys going off to school. Enrolling in college to get my teaching degree. And lots not forget meeting the amazing bloggers that I got to read.
Of course, I don’t forget them. But I’ve taken a long break from reading other blogs as I run after this boy or do one last thing or finish that project. This is why I make a bad pen-pal. I get busy with life. Every day pushes the letter further down the list. Then I realize how long it’s been, and then I feel guilty. Then I don’t write. Then I feel horrible.
The funny thing is if an old friend got in contact with me after weeks, months, years, I would be over the moon. It goes back to what I find important. Is it important that I maintain the friendships I found her among the blogs or not?
I bet reading a few blog posts after studying tonight would be an awesome reward.