It's been a year...
Sometimes it's too much to think about, too tragic, and I don't believe it. I wait for a call or a random text, to hear your voice and your laughter...I get nothing. I see your picture every day. It's sits on our fridge in a make shift altar Thomas made for you as a school project for Dia De Los Muertos...I can't put it away. I don't want to put it away. If it had been anything else, the kids would have already asked, "Mama, why do you still have that up there?" They need it to stay in place, just like I do. It's off limits, no one can touch it. It's been a year since I received that phone call. The call I knew was a joke, a prank, some kind of terrible mistake. You couldn't be gone. We hadn't done all the things we said we would do. You hadn't grown up yet. I spent the next month in a fog. I was like a functioning alcoholic. (I bet this made you laugh.) I woke up, I went to work, I cooked and cleaned and went through