The house is quiet today. Scott and the kids decided on a whim to go to Six Flags with some friends, and I stayed behind since I had so much to do to prepare for tomorrow. Scott's mom, grandmother, and his brother and his family will be here for Easter lunch. I've already got my mashed potatoes ready, and put together the banana pudding poke cake and popped it in the fridge to sit overnight. You would love that cake. It's all the goodness of banana pudding, but better. So now I just need to clean the bathrooms and run the vacuum.
I didn't buy any Easter outfits this year since we won't be doing the church thing in the morning. I'm just not in the perfectly-coordinated-pastel mood this year at all. I do have a bunch of eggs to hide for the kids, and David is so excited to have family coming. You know how he always loves having people in his house. He always has.
Every thing just feels so strange right now. I saw a man walking down the street yesterday dressed like Jesus carrying a cross on his back. People were waving to him from inside their cars, and I did the same. And I thought it crazy how numb I am to the meaning of anything here lately. The sight of a pretend Jesus didn't bring up any emotion in my heart. All I could think to myself is that you are dead. And then I started to cry, not about the pretend Jesus with the cross but more about the fact that you are still dead.
Still dead, aren't you?
It's funny how I still have to question that. I would think by now I'd have accepted it, but I guess there's still some tiny little speck inside of me that thinks I will pick up the phone and hear your voice, that we will go to Belk again and look for Madalyn an Easter dress, that we will go have lunch at Olive Garden. But you're still dead, so we can't.
So I will cook a big lunch tomorrow. Ham and mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese and green beans and purple hull peas. I will butter store bought rolls. I will try not to eat too much of the kids candy from their baskets. I will try not to cry in front of anyone. And I will just get through another day without you.
Tuesday will mark two years since you've been gone. I can't believe it. It just doesn't seem real. I think it feels less real to me now than it did when I touched your cool body. How is that possible, Mama? How have I not gotten used to this yet? And when will I know what to do? When will this new life become more like normal?
So today, I've got some music playing as I cook and clean. And I think when I am all done with my household chores, I will run to Lowe's and get some flowers for my pots. And I will think of you in nearly every second of what I do this weekend, remembering our last Easter together, remembering you and all you were to me.
I miss you so...