Two years can change a lot of things.
Babies learn to walk and feed themselves, some even are potty trained. College students can earn a whole degree. Road construction projects can be planned, carried out and completed. Gardens come and go.
Two years hasn't changed the amount that I miss you, brother.
Mother says to turn February into a month for serving others. I know that this is true. I always feel better when I'm giving to others. When I'm sharing talents, a warm loaf of bread or a hug.
But for now, (and maybe every February) I'll run the course of grief. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. Sometimes the anger takes over. Sometimes bargaining is the emotion I reach for. But I usually end up in the same place. There isn't anything that any of your loved ones could have done to change God's plan for our lives. Those of us who are left to mourn must reach and re-reach this decision each time we work through the grief.
It stinks that you aren't here. It stinks that our family is one brother short. It stinks that Suzy can't have her sweetheart near. It makes me mad. So mad in fact that I've stopped writing as much. I wasn't going to do that. You encouraged me to write and I've not held up my end of the deal. You were always doing for others, making staves for Eagle Scouts, giving time to those in need, helping family members whenever your skills were needed. Offering laughter and stories and making our lives more joyful.
I think I'm just having a bit of a pity party. Dang it, aren't we entitled to a bit of one? Two years is long enough to quit being so angry, isn't it?
Maybe I should quit feeling so sorry for myself and make a batch of cookies to share, or write a note to a friend, or go stitch a quilt for a loved one.
Two years. I still miss you. I guess I always will.