Sure, we’ve acclimated. Mom makes a little less food for dinner, and we know that there is a little more hot water for showering and a little less laundry to be run. We’ve changed and adapted, squeezing into the new mold. We’ve settled into a new kind of normal.
But it’s not the normal I want.
I want the old normal back. I want you to still be here, forever checking the fridge for food, leaving your socks all over the place, and all the other silly little things that made up you. I want to be able to talk to you, see you, help you make dinner, watch movies with you, sit by you at church, clean your bedroom with you, listen to you share your heart with me... all those moments that I took for granted. I wish I could live them again.
I know that God is good, and I can see so many beautiful things that came from your death, but that doesn't change the reality that I hurt. And some days, that pain is more potent then others. But it's okay. God has carried me this far, even when I was on the verge of despair, and I trust Him to bring me safely home.
I miss you so ridiculously much, Joshua Steven Eddy. And I love you.