Tomorrow is the anniversary.  But today is too.  Today is the Day Before the Day.

Tomorrow is the day he died.  Today is the last day we had together.

We had breakfast together.  We finished our Christmas to-do list.  We flirted like we were in college again.  And then I went away to write for three hours while he cleaned the house and became terribly sick.

It’s a privilege to have such a beautiful ‘last day’ to remember. I can’t seem to celebrate it.  Try as I may.

My subconscious is a wreck.  I slept fitfully last night, waking to watch the clock, knowing death was waiting at 5:00 in the morning.  Such dreams do not offer rest.

I woke this morning on a fierce hunt for joy, to make today festive and bright.  We had donuts.  We played and pretended.  But the calendar mocks me.  I find myself looking at the clock.

“Two years ago right now, we were…” And I remember his smile and his hands and his silly singing voice that echoed Let It Snow.  He was our Christmas magic.

Robb’s college roommate is flying in today to join us for this weekend.  He is one who knew him best, one who misses him most.  So we’ll spend the weekend together, all four of us, sewing our memories together like a patchwork quilt.

I have gifts to give each of the boys, unrelated to Christmas.  I made each of them memory book.  They are titled, Tucker and Daddy and Tyler and Daddy.  With digital finesse, they are chock full of pictures of the boys with Robb.

Each picture tells a story, breathes life, and reminds the boys:

You had him.  He was here.  I promise.

And, oh, my great day, he loved you.

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