It's been three years today. Life is no kinder than when you left us, but at least there's been love and happy moments.
Three years, and I still think about you all the time, and wonder what you'd make of some silly scenario, or a thing I heard about on the news, or Lisa's boyfriend, or me. Would you still laugh at our old jokes, or are we too old for that now? Would you be worried about this war, would you smile at some nonsense, would you tell me more about some book you read that explains the true nature of why something backfired and society had let yet another criminal go free? Would you tell Lisa to leave that foolish man already, because clearly he will never appreciate her the way you did when the two of you were together?
Three years, and I wonder if you'd be married by now, and to whom. Would you have a teaching job, or be working on your Master's degree? Would you still live with your parents, or would you be on your own in a bachelor pad like your brother? Would I be going to your house once or twice a month so we could cook something fun that we'd been craving? Would you be making plans to go back to Fresno to visit the families you taught during your mission? Would you still make cornbread out of sour milk? Would you still make up Quotes pages filled with all the dumb things I'd told you? Would you let me highlight your hair again? I promise, this time I won't trick you by using the big size H crochet needle instead of the little itty bitty one that comes with the highlighting cap. But really, you did look great with all that blond hair.
Would you and I still be as close as we once were? Would I come to you when my husband does some strange man thing that requires an explanation? Would my kids call you Uncle Karl? Would my husband laugh at us, and how goofy we are when we get together? (Actually, I can answer that one: yes, he would. He still does.)
Three years, and I still laugh at all our old jokes, at the pictures of us acting goofy.
Three years, and I still want to talk to you for the sheer pleasure of good conversation.
Three years, and I still love you, and there's an empty spot in my soul where you're supposed to be.
Three years, and I still don't know what to do, except go on.
P.S. HOOTERS! (Heh, you thought I forgot, didn't you!)