"Oh my god, he's not here." That thought travels through my consciousness a few times a day. It takes me a little while to let that feeling of despair wash over me. I give it the time it needs to cycle through my soul.
I've taken to saying goodnight to him every night, either in my thoughts or out loud. And every morning I greet him, again silently or out loud, as I always did, "Good morning, my sweetheart," as I look at the several photos of him adorning my dresser and walls in the bedroom. I hear his response and I picture his smile which lit up all of my mornings.
I go over in my mind what could have originated the turn of events that tore our lives apart. What could we have done differently. I wave those thoughts away because it doesn't matter now. My thoughts turn to the things we used to talk about during the day: the boys, the dogs, sports, his law students, old law cases that are still churning, and then, interspersed...the inevitable puns. Oh my, every day I was convulsed with laughter from his never-ending puns. I used to describe this ability to constantly come up with them as kind of a disease.... he just couldn't help it. They just rolled off his tongue.
Puns have been popping up on my Twitter feed and Facebook page. Some have Warren's stamp on them. As I read them I can picture the times he used them, similar ones or the hundreds he made up on the spot, where he was and who was the unsuspecting victim! He was always asked if he was writing them down for a future book. He never did. So, whenever I hear a pun or read one, the giggles start bubbling up amid the sweet memories.
Ah, memories. The sweet and happy ones are now outnumbering the sad ones. I'm enjoying the giggles. I guess that's progress.
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