It's when I started to worry that something was wrong.
Up until now I had just thought he was busy being the World's Best Daddy.
I thought for sure I'd hear from him when he was on his way to the airport. Then I thought I'd hear from him when he was on his layover... then I started to worry... so I busied myself with hanging the curtains I'd bought for our front room... putting together the bench I was saving for him to do... redecorating our bedroom... one plane landed... then the next... the last was delayed until well into the next morning... calls to the hospitals... no accidents... no he hadn't been admitted... waiting a few more hours... leaving the bedroom door open... surely the phone's battery has just failed... the overwhelming pit in the bottom of my stomach... recognizing it'd been there for a couple of days... thinking if I just fell asleep he'd be next to me when I awoke in the morning...
The gut wrenching call to the house... the numbness setting in when I left a message for his friend... getting the call from my mom that she was on her way up to pick me up... and knowing.
Knowing at that point that nothing good was going to come from his not coming home the night before.
Realizing in that moment that my world would never be the same again.
Imagining the worse.
Hoping for the best.
Fighting the odds only to discover it was too late.
I still feel the anxiety every night before I go to sleep.
It's as overwhelming as it was last year.
It feels like it's as fresh still as if it's the 13th of July every day.
God, I miss him.
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