03/28/2026
It is such a strange thing not to have parents. Not a particularly unique thing, but strange nevertheless. And while I miss them on the big days, and today feels particularly strange as it’s now been a year since Dad, and Mom will be two years on tax day (hilariously ~ of course Gloria chose the drama of death and taxes) … it’s not the big days that are the hardest, although they’re certainly hard. Christmas, birthdays etc. But it’s the little things. How I want to call Mom and tell her about a parenting moment this week that was so like her, and how I want to tell her I’m not afraid to be like her anymore. Or how I want to tell Dad that the amazing community where I spend so much time honored him in beautiful little ways yesterday, ways that brought tears to my eyes and so much love to my heart, the kind of love that makes you awkwardly wave goodbye and half-hug people and run home because you’re afraid you’ll just sit down and cry and spend the whole day with them. I want to tell my parents about the decisions my boys are making in their lives, I want them to see how much Caroline does with her beautiful heart, I want to show them our new puppy, I want them to know I’m having grits for breakfast, because I miss them, and it’s what we ordered after church on Sundays at the diner on Williamson Road owned by the man who bought their first house. But I don’t worry if they’re okay anymore. I actually know they’re okay, and I see them in me and the kids and in a million other little things in our lives and in my home. And I tell them that I love them.
