I've been driving around, not knowing what to do. I keep hoping for the miracle, for the phone call that all is right. But you're gone. And the world's a little dimmer.
I'm struggling with the bitter taste of jealous. I only had a few years. I needed more time. So much more time.
You've left a mark, one that's changed my life. You were sent to me, to show me another way. No one else could have wrapped an arm around my shoulder and turned my perspective. Being different wasn't a curse.
You gathered my children and Damon into your embrace, welcoming them to your world of music but it wasn't the symphony that touched their hearts.
It was how you touched mine.
Kindness has a far-reaching, ripple effect. Your acceptance and love changed me, changed my family and changed the community beyond.
I'm scared to battle my illness with one less soldier at my side. You taught me, you showed me how to be a parent, how to love and accept a child who's sick.
It's frightening, in a stigma-filled world, to be without you. You gave me courage to write "the other book." I haven't touched it in weeks. I have your last notes on my desk. It's the last time I'll feel your encouragement. It's the last time I'll read your confidence in me.
I miss you. I'd hoped writing would lessen the pain but it only reminds me of the emptiness. I miss you, I miss you something fierce.