This was the last day I talked to you on the phone. I would call you every day. If I didn't get a chance to call early in the day, you would call and ask if I had forgotten about you. Of course I could never forget about you. I still can't and never will.
It was a short call. We were shopping at the outlet mall and Kensley, just 3 months old at the time, reacted to someone in a way that I knew Dad would laugh at. I called you to tell you about it. Even though you were weak, you still laughed.
We had to keep the call short because you had a cough that made it hard for you to talk, so I let you go and told you I would talk to you later.
I had no idea the next call I'd get would be the next morning saying they had to call an ambulance for you because you couldn't get off the couch on your own.
I still miss our calls. You were the one person I could call at any time, for any reason. When I had something good happen, or something bad, I could call you. When you had something good or bad happen, you made sure to call me.
I still sometimes reach for phone on instinct to call you at those times. It happened just this week. We found out something and you were the first person I wanted to tell. I had a really rough day, and you were the first person I wanted to talk to.
It's getting a little better, but it's still hard. I use to pick the phone up, stare at your number, and cry. Yearn for the chance to hear your voice again and talk to you again.
Now, I still look at the phone for a second, and then just set it back down. I'll stop for a minute, imagine how our conversation would have went, and move on with my day.
Others probably think I get really quiet sometimes. If they only knew that those are the times I still have set aside to talk to you.
It's just not by phone anymore.
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