…… yep, 56 …… that’s how old you’d be today …… if you were still here.
Instead …… you are forever 47.
Not fair, Jim.
Totally not fair.
In case you’re wondering, though I don’t think that you are, I miss you.
Every single day of my life …… I miss you.
You have missed so much.
Or have you?
Do you see us?
Are you a witness to everything our kids have been through?
Do you know how far each of them has come?
If so, I know that you are bursting with pride.
For each of them.
And all that they’ve accomplished.
All while missing you.
My life is so different now.
You’d hardly recognize it.
Or would you?
Do you see me?
Are you aware of how much has changed?
Are you proud of me?
I hope so.
I hope that you see.
I hope that you’re here …… nearby. Watching and cheering me on.
I’m not sure if you are.
But I hope so.
When you died, most of me died.
I thought I would die.
I wished I’d die.
But here I am.
Eight years later.
Not only alive …… but living.
There’s a difference, you know.
I’m living.
I’m joyful.
I’m happy.
I’m content.
Mostly.
There are still days.
The missing of you still brings tears.
The loving of you will never end.
Not by me.
Not by your children.
Not by anyone who truly knew you.
Thank you for loving me unconditionally.
Thank you for our children.
Thank you for striving to be a godly man.
And a loving father.
And a Christ-like husband.
Thank you for wanting to grow old with me.
Even though you didn’t.
It’s the thought that counts.
And you are always in my thoughts.
I love you, Jim.
Always and forever.
And I’ll see you soon.
My Second Plan A 
Hugs my friend. So happy to see you living well even in your loss. Happy birthday Jim
Sending hugs sweet friend
No words, just love you!
Loving thoughts of Jim and your beautiful marriage and family today!
Bless you dear. You’re the best, always did everything right. Bless the legendary Jim. What an ace. See you soon
Oh how this has made me cry. Eight years….. at a little over 2 years I can’t even begin to imagine 8 years.
It is beautiful to hear that you are happy and content.
Beautiful post!
I’m reading these things at night alone while my husband is upstairs asleep. I see the things people write and save them for the day that I know is inevitably coming. My husband is fighting an extremely rare, high grade, aggressive terminal head and neck cancer. I feel so alone because we’ve yet to meet anyone who has or had this type of cancer, anyone who has ever heard of it, or even any other doctors that are not ENTs that have. That’s because nobody survives, said the doctor. There is very little research because it’s so rare, it’s all a guessing game of trying this or that medication until the cancer spreads more, then going on to the next thing. All after a radical surgery and radiation that still didn’t get rid of it. I’m afraid we have exhausted all the ideas. He’s made it two years, which is great, but it just makes me worry more each day that the day is coming closer. I sit here alone at night, grieving my husband’s death before it has even come, trying to somehow prepare myself even though I know it’s useless, and while also realizing that I have to savor and appreciate the days we have now before they slip away. Your words are sad, and make me feel sorry for your hurt and loss, but they also comfort me. They tell me that I will be able to get through this and go on, and my children will also. Thank you for sharing.
Oh Lora, I am so very, very sorry. My heart hurts for you. But you’re right. You will get through. It will be the hardest thing you’ve done, but you’ll do it. I’ll be pulling for you.