3 1/2 Years

Today’s date marks 3 ½ years.

So hard to believe that much time has passed.

So hard to believe it hasn’t been longer.

3 ½ years.

The Rob I knew would be proud of how his children have fared since he died.

He would be happy our oldest, his firstborn, is married and, with her husband, just bought their first house.  He would be, like I am, happy that Crystol is planting her very own roots.  He would hope and pray, as I do, that those roots will hold deep and strong and sprout all kinds of
lovely “up sprigs” of love, happiness, harmony, and joy!  

He would be so proud of his firstborn.

He would be proud of our firstborn for overcoming her dyslexia and not settling for any kind of easy way out in life – for pursuing her dreams, even the ones he never got the privilege of knowing Anna has – and he would be proud of her for everything she has accomplished in her first year of college as she pursues her goals.  He would wish her success in every class she has to conquer.  And he would be loving the discussions they would be having over the latest books they had read.  

He would be so proud of our firstborn.

He would be proud of our first son.  He would probably be constantly picking with him about the fact that our son is now 6 feet 3 inches tall – a good amount taller than he was.  He would be proud of Wesley for doing well in this thing called Driver’s Education.  He would be, just as he was with his older 2, thrilled to watch them accomplish this rite of passage of teenagerhood.  He would have also enjoyed watching him shave for the first time and I believe they would have had the best father/son relationship – filled with hours of talking and joking.  And he would be proud of how Wesley has automatically stepped up to being such a help to me.  

He would be so proud of our oldest son.

He would be proud of our baby, our youngest son.  Just as he did when he was living, he would probably be treating him much as a grandpa would be treating a grandchild.  After all, Rob was 1 month shy of turning 44 when Luke was born.  He would be thrilled that our Luke has only strengthened his ingenuity in designing and building things with such intricate skill that I still can’t figure out if he is bent to becoming an artist or an engineer or maybe both.  He would be proud of him for always being ahead in school work
(the only one of our children to have that motivation).  

He would be so proud of our little man.

And I think he would be proud of me – of how I’ve continued our once shared mission in what we wanted for our children and for each other.  I think he would be proud that I choose joy – through tears at times – but it is still joy that I seek and it is joy that I choose.  Joy can take on many forms but the kind that comes after the agony is the sweetest I’ve known.  Don’t get me wrong.  There are still days that I cry.  There are still days I cannot believe he’s gone.  There are still days I would prefer to stay in bed.  But I think he would be proud that, even on those days, I still choose joy and I get up and try to do my best with our children and maybe help a few others as well.  

And he would be happy that I’ve started to dream a little myself.

P.S.  And at this very moment, he would be watching the Duke game 

and I would be watching that one vein popping out on his forehead.

Great memories!