I am in a mood today, not unlike most weekends. Weekends are the absolute worst for missing you, every day is hard, but weekends are even more so!
You died on a Saturday, but you really started "the beginning of the end" of your journey here on this earth on the morning of Friday February 7th. I relive the last 48 hours or your life every weekend, no matter how much we try to keep ourselves busy or occupied, I can't forget it, I will NEVER forget it.
This weekend your absence is hitting me hard, slamming into my heart and mind - tomorrow marks seven months since you left my arms and flew into the arms of Jesus. I can only imagine that His love for you is so much more than ours! I know deep down in my heart that you wouldn't have left us so peacefully if that were not true. Not a day goes by where we don't wonder what your days in Heaven are like. Sometimes we joke and say that we won't recognize you when we get to Heaven because you'll be so "fat" from eating all of the yummy food that you were never able to eat while you were here on this Earth. But then we say, we certainly hope that we don't have to worry about our waistlines in Heaven :).
We had a wonderful opportunity to share your life with others last week, we shared your story for the Radiothon at the hospital. It's oh so very difficult to walk into that building without you. I tear up every time I drive through those gates at the entrance of the hospital. Those gates, they are a reminder to me of the many times I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that we were just moments away from getting you the very best care you needed to feel better. The people who frequent the halls in that building, they are our "medical family". Walking those halls without you in your wheelchair is NEVER easy, but it is also like coming home to visit family. There is nary a corner or doorway that I pass where I don't run into someone who knows and loves you. What we have experienced together will forever bond us to them.
Helen met us at the hospital to support us while we were at the Radiothon. Luc she misses you so! We ate dinner together in the cafeteria for the first time since February. The grumpy cafeteria worker who liked to ask me, "Why only 1 French Fry?", every time I took you to the cafeteria was working. He said that he has missed us, really? I told him that you had died. It's never easy to say those words...
As we were walking out of the building on Thursday the kids were jumping from colored tile to colored tile, like always, being careful to not step on the blue ones :). Helen looked teary eyed. We were both recalling that night, the night you died, the last night we walked that hallway together pushing your empty chair, barely able to step in the direction we were facing.
Luc, I don't know how I've survived this long without you...but I'm doing it baby. In honor of your extraordinary life, I get up everyday and do the impossible...live life without you.
Your life, it was/is extraordinary and we are always in awe of how many lives you impacted and continue to impact. We truly believe, girly, that your death is not the end, but rather the beginning of your journey.
We long to hold you again, breath in your Lucy scent, and kiss you in all the same places we kissed you before...
Like we promised you...we're coming too, we'll be there, just not yet.