Bob died in April. It’s been just short of 6 months since he passed, but so many things have changed with the kids that I am awestruck by all that he has missed. It stops me cold sometimes.
I’ll catch a glimpse of my son’s upper lip, the darkening hair growing in, and think of how his father hasn’t seen it. Never will. How deep his voice is now. Overnight it seems, Bug’s turning into a man his father will never know.
My daughter, oh my, her father would be in shock by what a stunning young woman she’s turning into. He’d want to lock her up, I fear. Peanut looks more like a teenager than the child he would remember.
It’s strange feeling like I have this vested interest in them being the children they were when Bob died, but knowing I want them to grow into the amazing adults they will become, too. It’s part of letting go of remembering that time, trying not to use them to hold onto a piece of him too hard. Letting them be who they are, not just part of him. I have to let them be individuals, independent of their father.
So, I watch and let the tears fall here and there. Usually, they go unnoticed. Kids are busy beings. Busy with life and living it. I love that about them.