Yet another April 19. A date cannot get any sadder. I relive the hours, what I was doing each moment before he died. I remember how I felt. Content with life but aggravated by small things. Covid. Work. Ben not visiting with me for more than ten minutes when he stopped by to pick up Beau’s things. Working on updating my music playlist long into the night. Eating boiled peanuts with a cold beer.

This time, exactly three years ago he was alive. And so was I. And now he’s gone. And so am I.

I never know what to do with this day. I can’t celebrate it. But it feels like it should be marked. He should be remembered by more than just me.

It’s not just another day. It’s THE day. The only day that seems to matter anymore in my world.

Oh how I miss him. Those words aren’t big enough for the hole that’s left. I yearn for the day I can join him. My baby. My boy. My young man. My Ben.