For the past eight years, I've shared with Mike every single thought that has popped into my head. Many, he probably wished I had kept to myself. Others made him laugh. Most made him roll his eyes at me.
Everything from the price of paper towels at Publix to speculating whether that anchor on the Weather Channel was pregnant again. Most recently it was me calling him at work to tell him what I was making for dinner or the funny thing that Julia said. Sometimes it was me spouting political opinions that he didn't necessarily agree with but listened to nonetheless. Just random meaningless things. Whatever I was thinking.
Now that he's gone, I'm not sure what to do with all these thoughts. Over the past two months, I have wanted to tell him that I've started eating hummus, that I had bought him the new Stone Temple Pilots CD for Father's Day, that I was happy Nadal won Wimbledon because Mike knows I don't like it that Federer wins everything. I wanted to tell him how it's ironic that I've wanted to not work on Saturday nights for so long and now that I don't, I don't know what to do with myself and that there's not even anything good on TV. I wanted to tell him I was really ticked off about that birthday gift that arrived at the office for him.
And then there's the big things. I wanted to tell him that I was terrified TERRIFIED to speak at his celebration of life, but that I got through it by trying to summon up just an ounce of the enormous amount of courage that he showed every single day for the past two years. I wanted to pick his brain about how I really want to move back to Charleston and what I need to do to make that happen. I wanted to tell him that Julia is obsessed with the moon, particularly when it's out during the daytime. And that she peed her pants on her first day of preschool, but that her teacher said she's the smartest girl in the class. Of course she is!
And here she is on the first day.
And the second.