It has been several months but the pain is still there. The questions from the kids are still there. The sadness is still there. It’s a little farther under the surface but it is still there every day.
Often, Eli is the one who mentions randomly how much he misses Uncle Billie and wishes he didn’t die. Sofia said that Uncle Billie is the one who always protected her from my parent’s dogs. He would chuckle at her absurd fear as he held her up far away from the slobbering dogs. He was a huge part of their lives.
Sometimes I forget where I’m at and drive by his grave site. The first time I did Eli rolled down his window and yelled “Hi, Uncle Billie,” out the window. Sofia, of course, chimed in. It wasn’t their usually rowdiness but more of a stoic “Hi.”
Of course, this made me bawl. If I didn’t cry anymore, I would wonder what was wrong with me!
This irony in this is my brother (Uncle Billie) would often drive by our Grandpa Bill’s grave, also his namesake, and honk and yell “Hi, Grandpa.”
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