Two years later.

 Two years. 730 days. Today (8/7) on the eve of that day, I sit and reflect as I often do about that last conversation we had. The one where you said “if you don’t hear from me later today I’ll try and get you tomorrow” . I hear those words so many times in my head. Often times I’ll flash back to exact where I was while that convo took place. You never know when you’re in a moment that it will be the last moment you have. Or the last moment you have with someone. 

I most certainly did not think that that conversation would be our last. Never thought I’d never get to physically be in your presence again. I’m certain I tried to come up and visit one or both days but was unable to set it up. So when I got the call I felt sick. My heart dropped. I rushed to be by your side. Every detail of that night is vivid as if i were living it all over again. 

All of 2020 as we were hit by Covid and the world stood still, I went days sometimes without being able to speak to you. It drove me up the wall to the point that if a day went by where I missed a call or didn’t get a call an immense feeling of worry rushed over me. Fearing that the call I got two years ago today would be the one I would wake up to the next day. I made sure I did what I could then to prevent that from happening. It got to the point where we could sit outside the window and talk on the phone. It wasn’t much but being able to hear your voice and see you physically in front of me gave me the comfort I so desperately needed. 

A lot has changed for me  in two years. I’ve lost people. Gained some more. Grew closer to some and apart from others. I’ve been so many new places. Done so many new things. Last summer I got on my first flight ever. A nervous wreck I was but I got through it. I’m sure you and Pop Pop would’ve got a kick out of hearing about that story and how when we landed I couldn’t eat for a day and a half because my anxiety was through the roof. My biggest fear I finally faced it. (I haven’t conquered it. Not even close. But I stared it down and came out on the other side) 

I still remember the first time you ever asked me if I wanted to get on the plane and go to Philly with you and I had a full on meltdown panic attack over it. I felt like a dirt bag then and kinda still do. What would I have done if something happened to you on that flight and I was too scared to go with you? I would never have been able to live that down. 

As I type this I'm laying back in a recliner in the hospital awaiting one of the biggest changes in my life: the birth of my first child. A moment I always knew you guys would be around to see. A moment that now as I sit here and am faced with the reality of doing this without you quite honestly sucks. Not so much because I’m not ready or anything. Just because I know how much you wanted that. I’ll never forget you telling me “I was hoping you’d be married and/or have some kids before I go” in the moment I felt like the biggest failure ever. And it wasn’t even said with that energy. I just know that you wanted to see how this experience would change me and to have the ability to have my kid get showered with the same love that I got growing up. 

And if we’re being honest, it’s taken some of the excitement and joy away from all of this. I wish you could be here to see me and experience this moment with me. The one person I knew for a fact would be jumping for joy when I told you this news. And you nor Pop Pop are here to share this with me. I know everyone will say you’re here in spirit and yeah I know. But it ain’t the same. 

Here I am now.. two years later. Sitting out front of where you took your last breath. Where we shared our last memories together. It still doesn’t feel like reality. My brain just cannot seem to process your presence no longer being here. Whenever I get a day where I have nothing to do I often don’t myself fumbling around attempting to pass the time. Because on days like those I would make it a point to spend time with you physically or on the phone. Without that my days feel discombobulated. Unorganized. 

As I sit here the moments of the night you left us replay in my mind vividly as if I were watching a playback of them. This is as close as I get to be these days. Whenever I ride by here I just remember all the days I spent in here with you. Each one as precious as the last. I’ll be here next year again. And the year after that. And after that. Until I get to see you again. You are eternally loved and missed every single day. 

Though you aren’t here to meet her, when she’s old enough my little one will get to know all about you and pop pop. Hopefully I can love her the way you guys loved on me. 

Until next time.