Cuddling up with memories

Andrew, Florentina and I cozy inside and the cold snow outside

Andrew, Florentina and I cozy inside and the cold snow outside

No words are scrambling to find their way out of me today. Only tears.
I think I cried when Andrew first died, but mostly I screamed. I screamed myself into my clothes, I screamed into the phone to my friends: “Andrew is dead, come and take us to the hospital.”
I kept running around and screaming, howling; then I stopped and I was quiet.

2008 A Cozy Christmas morning with Andrew & the whole family

Now I seem to cry all the time. There isn’t a thing, a word, a sound, a color, a smell, a taste, a situation, a place that is part of who I am, of who my family is, that doesn’t include him. It is a constant stream of: he would have said that, he would have liked or he would have not liked that, he would have found that funny, gosh that would have annoyed him,can you imagine what he would have thought of that…. and on and on.
One does that with one’s children all the time, except that if you come across… say a new ice cream flavor that you know one of your children would like, you buy it. Then when you get home you say
“Hey, guess what, I bought this pistachio ice cream they had at Trader Joe’s and I thought that you might like to try it.”
But, when the child who enjoys the pistachio ice cream is dead, what do you do with it?

I don’t want to write today, I want to cuddle up with my memories of Andrew and let the tears flow, if they want to.

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