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I’ve been staring at this screen for months…waiting for what I’m supposed to say next and wondering what I can say that will “make it all better”.  Or what will make the reader on the other side of this page feel better. 

And now it's Christmas.  I don’t have anything.  I don’t have an eloquent poem about a Christmas in heaven, nor do I have a “Dear John, Merry Christmas” letter to share. 

I just miss him.  I miss hearing him say, “Love you”.  I miss the way he hugged me.  I miss the way he punched me in the arm as he walked by me.  I miss his grumpy face and the way we both love sour candy.  I miss the way he played with my kids and that he never got to meet James.  I miss his dirty hands, stained with oil and grease from working all day.  I miss the way we could share memories with each other about our childhood…especially around the holidays. 

I don’t miss wondering if he’s okay.  I don’t miss the tears shed when he was mad at me. I don’t miss the unanswered text messages or when I heard that he couldn’t stand me.  I don’t miss walking on egg shells because I didn’t know what kind of mood he was in.

I’ve been praying that God would bring to my mind the times John and I laughed until we cried.  I want THOSE memories at the forefront of my mind, but all I can seem to do is remember that I’m sad.  Where are the hilarious-make-you-pee-your-pants moments?  I know we’ve had them but I can’t remember them!  I want to sit down to write about my brother while rolling on the floor laughing for once…instead of in a puddle of tears. 

I’m expectant.  I know I will remember at the perfect moment.  In the meantime, I’m letting myself feel however I’m feeling.  Especially around the holidays and despite how it looks to those watching me.  I encourage you, from the still-grieving-places of my own heart, to do the same.

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