Originally written Thursday, July 02, 2015
I haven’t told you much about what’s going on with me lately. I’ve told you plenty of how I feel (more to come, I’m sure), but not much of the everyday stuff—the mundane details. So tonight, that’s what this letter is about—the stuff that turns the days into weeks and the weeks into months and months into almost three years.
Austin is away at camp—second year on staff at Bil-O-Wood. Dad's putting together a care package. I think we’ll include extra socks, bug spray, some snacks and a little surprise of some sort. Dad asked me for ideas, and I found myself trying to think of what you would've done. You’d also be happy to know Austin is back turning wood—you always loved it when he made things. He just made these incredible candlesticks and salt and pepper shakers. He’s so talented. Thanks for giving him the good genes.
I’m being a grownup this weekend and hosting a dinner party for the Fourth of July which really doesn’t make any sense seeing as though I literally despise cooking. Why do I hate it so much? I have no patience with it, and everything gets cold before it’s served. I wish I had more of your recipes. And I’m sorry I never appreciated your cooking at least not like I should have. I’m sorry for the nights when you tried to cook something special, and I turned up my nose or made plans and skipped out on dinner altogether. Dad cooks so much meat now. I’m always amazed at how much meat is in every meal when I go home. I guess it’s a guy thing.
Chick and Patty are coming down next weekend. Gosh, they’ll miss you—the four of you had a beautiful friendship. I realize just how beautiful it was now—thank God for Bluefield Drive and neighbors who become life-long friends. Probably lots of meat will be cooked that weekend.
I’m getting weirdly emotional writing this. I miss you in the mundane stuff. I miss you in the stuff that makes the time pass. Not just the big events, but the small ones too. You’re loved. You’re missed. You’re remembered.