At the eight-year mark, a blank day

Every day I stare at a calendar that dictates where I'm going and which direction I'm driving every hour of the day. I live by a dumb desk calendar, which rarely gives me a blank square because I'm spread thin over the city of Phoenix between three teen girls, three sports, two different schools and one car. The days go fast. Even with a 5 a.m. wakeup call for varsity cheer practice logistics, my body won't sleep till after midnight. It makes for fast days, faster months and lightspeed years. I wish the calendar gave me time to read a book. Or watch one of my dad's old classic movies. Or spend time doing anything OTHER than being on my phone or driving around the same streets several times a day.

But the square is blank today, Matthew. 

Today, November 19, is eight years since you've been gone. November is the "thankful" month for a lot of people; but for me, it's a month full of reminders of the traumatic day you died in 2017. The cold air and the smell of fall, Christmas songs on the radio. Rushing to and from fall practices and games for all kids. Homework I'm terrible helping them with. All the same things that come for me every November. Even pictures that hang all around my home of fall farm memories are painful reminders of our November loss. 

After eight years...

Your baby girl is 13 and she is so damn sensitive and passionate and she gets her feelings hurt SO MUCH and I don't know how to deal with her 99 percent of the waking hours. She tells me often how she misses having a dad. Even though she has lived more of her life without you, there is still a connection in her that you left that I pray won't ever leave.

Your twins are almost 16 and will be driving next month. Alone. On the roads. With other driving humans. I shouldn't be the one teaching them to drive either, we both know that. I am exasperated every day, wondering if I was this much to handle for my poor mother 30 years ago. I ask myself all the time how you'd handle these teenage years— the boy crazy/girl drama/raging hormonal/Starbucks drink addicted phase of life that has a chokehold on females here at the Remke house. 

Your son is 18 and half way through freshman year in college and I rarely see him despite his living only 30 minutes south of here. He's constantly busy with his honors classes and commitments he's got as a rising member of a fraternity that I know nothing about other than he loves it and is making good friends and connections for when he eventually graduates. I wonder what you'd think of that. We never really talked about college for the kids. We thought we had time. We sure thought wrong.

Yes, this is all flying by in a blur. Our kids are growing faster each year it seems and will be gone completely after only four more Novembers. On top of that thought, in a couple months I'm turning an age that is hard to write down—same as every bicentennial baby in 2026–but geez this one is going to suck without you. You always used to say you couldn't wait until I turned 50 and you were still going to be a young, spry 49. I don't want to be this damn old. And I never wanted to be old without you. It's all going so fast and I wish it would slow down. I keep getting farther from the time that you left us. I am light years away from that person I was when you died. Are you still waiting for us there, watching over us? I hope. We all look to see you and find you in between the everything in every day.

No matter where we are, what house we live in, what season I'm in... I continue to look for signs from you, for "moments of Matthew" in the chaos of our lives. Sometimes it's a yellow butterfly we seem to spot during soccer games or a rainbow in the sky coincidentally right after I think about you... There isn't a day that passes we don't pray that you stay with us somehow, every single day of our busy, jam-packed calendar days. 

I know tomorrow will be another day, another full calendar agenda for me with rushing and racing around, but today is blank. And I'm keeping it blank. I'm going to put down my phone and just be. I want to soak in one day to exist without rushing around. Please find us today, in something you can show us or make us feel, that you are with us in every day of our busy lives. We continue to miss you and love you no matter the amount of calendar days that pass.