The sting of seeing your photo still hits at odd times
How did that frame become the closest my eyes will get to seeing you again?
How did your name become something to memorialize rather than someone to call when my B.O.B. tire goes flat?
We read the names and tributes on the benches at the beach:
An awesome guy, friend and brother
A gentle soul
Save some waves for me
Maisley asks what the dates mean.
She always asks questions about Heaven and, “Will you go?”
I tell her not for a long time and meagerly convince both of us that I’m in control.
“Do they wear masks in heaven?” she asks.
I was setting up some essentials for baby Orkie in the casita of our 672-square foot Airbnb and felt a deep longing for you. A remembering that this tiny soul is in the “after you” part of our timeline.
I cried because I missed you. I cried because I’m so tired from carrying a human, and trying to be a human, and also raising other humans.
Every time I cry, Maisley and Coura sweetly ask, “Mommy, do you miss Poppi?”
Even when it’s not about you, it’s about you.
Every triumph and every sadness is layered in you.
Meesh got a beautiful tattoo that included your classic handwritten sign off – love ya.
I kept imagining you saying, “Had I known it would be on your body forever I probably would have tried a little harder!”
Even your chicken scratch is worthy of a permanent place with us.
Your very own bench is coming soon. Overlooking the golf course that holds our post-dinner frisbee and football throws. Much to your humble dismay, we’d cover every inch of that bench in your praise if we could, but they capped us at 24 characters.
In loving memory of Jeff Loftus
Husband, Dadio, Poppi, Friend
Loving soul, humble heart