09/25/1982

43 years since Mark Andrew Thomas came into this world. The 6th time this day has passed since his death.

Most days I walk through life and I am not consumed by the grief of losing my husband. Even today I don’t think that I am. In a way I miss that early grief. It was so raw because it was so fresh. I could feel what was missing so deeply, my body was still processing his absence.

Time goes by and nothing is as familiar.

I woke up today wanting to balance the acknowledgement of my Marky and his birthday without having the weight of this day crush me.

Then I got mad at the girls for wanting to crawl into their holes and wish the day away. And then I got sad as Samara and Hezekiah told me that they don’t have any memories of their dad. Samara cried as she said that life isn’t fair because she was just 1 year old when he died. And Hezekiah remembered one thing, and it was a punishment. At that moment right then I missed the raw grief, the kind of grief you drown in, when every memory is so close that it overwhelms you, surrounds you, suffocates you. Because how can I live in a world where my babies don’t know their own dad? How do I live in a world where they have his face but they don’t know his voice?

See, I am ok. I am doing this life. I am strong. But they are tiny, they are vulnerable, and they miss their dad.

So on his 43rd birthday I pray that God finds ways to show them their fathers heart, his presence and his love. And that the people in their lives who knew him will talk about him without fear or uncomfortability. That they will tell the funny stories, the songs he would sing, the jokes he would make, or the way his smile would crack open his whole face. What a glorious day it was 43 years ago, when Mark Thomas arrived. Happy Birthday my love. I miss you still.