Today, we miss you, Pierce. Yesterday we missed you. And tomorrow, we will miss you.
It’s hard to know when the “missing” will hit us. It’s a lot like having a chair pulled out from under you. You go back to sit in the chair and sometimes, it is there. You feel supported and you can get through your day. Other times, you go back to sit in that same chair, and it’s not there and you fall.
I have these moments of “missing” you in the strangest places, Pierce. I remember one time in particular. It was a few days after your funeral and I was at Panda Express, of all places, with my husband, Tim. I went to fill my cup with tea and noticed that the person in front of me hadn’t shut the tea urn off correctly and it was dripping. I went to try and fix it and then, the spigot came off in my hand and tea was just gushing out and all over the floor. A man I don’t know saw me struggling and my husband tried to help, and I don’t know why, but as that tea was pouring out all over the floor and I couldn’t get it to stop, I started crying uncontrollably.
I get teary eyed at the gym. Tim and I had finally decided to start going and signed up for a membership before Christmas because you had inspired us to go. It doesn’t help that there are TVs everywhere in there, broadcasting to others what may just seem like “news”, but for our family, is a fight for justice and to make things right, somehow.
Then last night, at another Asian restaurant, this time, Wasabi’s. Maybe I should just stay away from fried rice, I joke with myself. Even though I know that’s not why I’m sad.
Almost everyone there was celebrating a birthday. The cooks were flinging rice at our faces;I didn’t catch it in my mouth when my turn came around;I’ve never been coordinated and I honestly wasn’t trying. It was just…sad. All the banging of spatulas and flashes of fire and people celebrating when…you will never have another birthday, Pierce. We will probably still celebrate it. I hope we do…but it won’t be the same without you.
It doesn’t seem fair that this is our new “normal”. “Normal” might be pretty close to what most people call normal some days. Other days, it might be pushing through a crowd and hyperventilating in a bathroom stall alone. Sometimes, it might be leaving somewhere early because I just can’t be there right now. “Normal” might look like that for a while.
We love you and miss you, Pierce. We miss your smile, the words you would say, you just being here with us.