Today is the day that Jorge's Mom must dread more than any other day of the year. The anniversary of his passing cannot possibly become any less raw with the passage of time.
He'd be in his 30's now. She has to wonder if he would have had kids, what kind of Dad he would have been, what his life's work would have become.
I have a friend who's been missing her boy this long. There are two days in each month, every single month, that bring her to her knees still.: The day that corresponds to the one on which he arrived, and the day that corresponds to the one on which he went home. Every. Single. Month.
I think of Jorge's Mom on the 'thirds.' Not every month, I'm not diligent enough for that. But often. Whenever I catch a glimpse of the little J that Babygirl had tattoo'd on her arm, I say a prayer for his family.
I've thought about them all day today, remembering the chaos of that day eight years ago. (February Third - The Big Day..... Babygirl wanted, for the first time that I can recall, to go back and actually read the blog from that week (her final takeaway: "You shouldn't have let me eat so many pancakes." LOL). Remembering all the details, all of the crazy, all of the joy! And never, ever, ever forgetting what it cost someone else.
DeeDee
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