I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.

Because I sometimes posess the energy level of a 90 year old, I occasionally find myself in bed almost before the sun goes down.

The last few weeks have been even worse than normal, because the high pollen count is kicking my ass. 

My little hurricane, on the other hand, still usually has the energy of a kid, or at least an adult who isn't about to turn 30 (yikes!) with the exception of days after consuming her mom's rum runners. 

A few days ago, after being asleep for quite some time and basically looking like sleeping beauty with a Kleenex in each nostril, the aforementioned baby hurricane came home and tried to gently wake me from my slumber. Barely conscious and with my eyes still half closed, I muttered quietly "hi momma."

I only vaguely remembered this upon waking up the next morning, until Stormi reminded me and told me I also tapped her face several times, as if to see if my momma was really there, or possibly to try and make her forget that I had just referred to her as such. 

This is not the first time I've woken up from vivid dreams of you still being with me. I've mentioned before that I never feel like it's been over a year since I saw you last or spoke to you last, and I know you must visit me often when I am fast asleep. 

I remember my 12th grade English class, when our teacher spoke to 2 of my classmates who had just lost a parent and had bravely written their senior speeches about the experience. After standing up in front of our class and sharing such a private and emotional experience, our teacher asked them if either of them had dreamt of their parents yet. Neither of them had, and he told them the experience of doing so was going to give them more peace than they could ever imagine, as he, too, had suffered the loss of a parent at an early age. 

As a senior in high school, I was lucky enough to have both you and dad, still healthy, as so many of my classmates did not. Graduating from that particular class with those people has shaped my outlook on this experience in ways I didn't even realize until I found myself faced with the concept of losing you.

In my mind and in the world as I know it, I am so lucky that I had you for 28 years. Because I knew people who were robbed of a parent at an early age, and although many of those people were simply acquaintances, in 2003 when I walked to the stage in the BJC and again in 2008 (screw you all who are good at math and coming to the realization that it took me a little more than 4 years to earn my bachelors degree--aka and ironically, Mr. BJC,) the idea and reality of how lucky I was to have you both watching me was extremely real to me. 

That experience was probably the same thing that allowed me to stand up in front of a hall full of people who loved you and attempt to pay tribute to all that you were  less than a week after you had to leave. Because I had witnessed two eighteen year old men (because losing a parent turns you into an adult, whether you're ready or not) stand up in front of their class and talk about their loss, I knew that my 28 years with you meant that I could do it, too. 

I never knew that as I watched you take your last breath, seemingly insignificant words that were spoken 10 years before would suddenly hold such meaning and provide so much comfort. But that day, I knew from my 12th grade English teacher that I'd see you again in my dreams.

Breezy and 75

Tonight is beautiful.

Mild, breezy and perfectly quiet to be sitting on a bench outside in our (well-lit) apartment complex, looking up at the sky and wondering where you are up there. The moon is bright and I can see more stars than usual. It feels just like a night years ago, when we would come to Florida to visit Grandma for spring break, and in later years, after I moved here and you could no longer stand another second of winter in Pennsylvania. We would walk along the marina most nights and end up at our favorite spot in Dunedin, right by the hotel we stayed in when Neal and I were little and the whole family was visiting; the same hotel Stormi and I stayed in for the one year anniversary of the day you had to leave. You'd tickle my back and we'd listen to the waves slapping the walls and look out at the water. We'd talk about what it was going to be like when you retired and moved to Florida. We'd talk about you moving into Grandma's condo because we loved that place so much. And sometimes, we didn't talk at all. Just being together, you and me, was enough. 

It never once dawned on me that the future would end up so drastically different than I had imagined it would be. I couldn't wait for you to be closer to me, and the idea of seeing you more than just a few times a year was so close I could taste it. But then somehow, everything changed. Within 2 years time, Grandma was gone and then you were gone. And that place with all those memories was no longer mine in any way...except for the memories. Those are mine forever. 

We were led to that same spot on a tipsy evening just a month after you left, when Tay, Morgan, Sara and Speakz were all in Clearwater. Somehow, the random cab driver, equipped with a stun gun, led us to Main Street in Dunedin. Of all the places he could have suggested when we asked him for a fun place to go, he dropped us off less than a mile from all those sweet memories of you. 

After quite a few beverages, I found myself straying from the group, walking right to our spot with tears in my eyes. I couldn't choke out the words to explain what that place meant to me or try to sum up all the memories that were flooding back to me at that very moment. All I could do was walk toward it, without you there with me for the first time ever. Taylor followed, probably because she remembered what happened last time I drunkenly approached a body of water, and stood by my side as I proceeded to completely melt down. I remember her asking me if I could feel you there, and I remember agreeing that I could. 

As more and more time goes by, I feel you with me in so many places, and I see you in so many people who have loved me through all of this.

But especially on nights like tonight.