I need to see him, touch him, smell him, laugh at his bad dad jokes, fix him fried chicken and macaroni and cheese, get a text from him, play a video game with him, sit on the back porch and watch the bird feeder, fuss at him over his messy room, his clothes still in the washer, I need to hug him.

I can’t believe I will never do any of those things again. The enormity of it hits me ever day, several times a day and I can’t stop the tears. They drip while I’m washing dishes, making my bed, taking a shower, watering flowers, working. Just a steady flow.

I keep tissues stuffed in both pockets which end up as little white strips of fluff in the dryer. Testament to my forgetfulness and my sorrow.

How can it be that he’s gone forever? Who won the very last time we watched jeopardy? How could I not know it would be the last time? What day was my last hug? Where was he going? Was it a short one or a long one? How could I not know that would be my last hug? What were we eating the last meal he, Beau and I grabbed hands and he prayed? How could I not know it would be our last prayer together?

I can’t.