more floods of memories

Mikey My Love,

Do you remember how you changed my phone so it said, "Mikey My Love" every time you called? I think you did that before we even got married. It said that on my phone clear until the last time you called me.
I must admit that I look at my phone countless times each day just to check if you've called. The hope of your presence is too strong to fight sometimes. Sometimes I think if I allow myself to hope, I'm just setting myself up for disappointment. But I've decided that when all is said and done, hope really is all I have. So I'm clinging to it. I'm clinging to the idea that someday "Mikey My Love" really will call me, somehow, some way. I'm hoping that dreams still can come true. That eventually God and Jesus really do some how, in some way, make it all okay for us.
The past week more memories have flooded my heart. Every time a memory comes to me, I worry that's the last time I'll think of it...That somehow my mind will fail me and time will destroy what I know what it ultimately can't. Nevertheless, I must write these memories down now, just in case.

Ahhh...The first time we met. I came over to your house (OUR house) with Lyndzi Hinds. You and Brannigan were there. I'll never forget my first vision of you: You were sanding the doorway between the kitchen and office. (Working on the house remodel, of course.) I seriously thought you were so adorable. You seemed so chill and funny. So it's true that I was interested right from the first glance.
That first night together was so funny. Lyndzi and I were trying to escape a night alone with some scary guys we hardly knew, so we told these scary people to meet us at your house, claiming it was our house. Then you and Brannigan dressed up as a bunch of bums (you put your old "United Vans" shirt on) and came to the door after the guys arrived. You had poured beer all over yourselves just to make it look like you were legitimate bums. You wanted to make these unwanted guests look dumb, so you claimed your car was broken down and asked them to come out and have a look at it. (You had pulled out a wire so the car wouldn't start.) Sure enough, these guys were as dumb as they looked and they couldn't figure out what was wrong with the car. Throughout the night, you and Brannigan pulled off one antic after another in attempts to make these guys look so stupid. Eventually you drew them away, and Lyndzi and I were left to hang out with you and Brannigan for the rest of the night. A month later we went out on our first date.

I take pride in the fact that we met in our house, got engaged there, and lived there together for four years. Four wonderful years.

Do you remember the night of the cat in the Arizona apartment? That's right, the night of the cat. We were lying in bed, in the dark, cuddling, waiting for sleep. All the sudden a hideous scream came from out the window. After listening to the wailing for a good twenty minutes, I knew it was a cat...A cat that needed our help. You always hated cats. Even when you were dating you made that clear to me. But this poor kitty sounded like it was in total misery. I begged you to put your clothes on and go find it. You cussed all the way out the door, only to find it was a cat in heat wanting to be left alone. Nevertheless, I was so grateful for your sacrifice. I had to know the cat was okay.

I've really missed a tradition established this past year. Every morning you'd do sit-ups to "The Firm"--a hilarious rendition of the 1980's horrific style of dress. I'd often lay down and do them with you. Even Andi would lay down and pretend to do it with us. Good times.

I love the memories of dancing with you in our kitchen. Dancing in the closet. Singing and making up songs as we danced.

Your blaring alarm each morning still seems to ring its tune in my ear each morning. Somehow I desperately miss those early morning wake-up calls...It was in those moments you displayed your zeal for life so well. You rarely hesitated to get right up and going. I envied that.

I miss the latest about Bruce, Chuck, Josh, Jenny, Tony. And your customers.
I miss seeing your dirty socks on the kitchen counter after a long day's work.

I miss hearing you gargle and hack up a lung after you brushed your teeth each morning.

I miss the ultra cold freezers that kept your Ben and Jerry's just the way you liked it: Icy and hard.

I miss hearing about your latest dreaming: The orange Blazer you'd have someday. The millionaires we were going to be. The new ideas you'd have for renovating the Kaysville house. The businesses we were going to start together--We always liked the idea of a Car Detail Shop. We always said we'd be a good team for that since we each brought each side of the balance to the table.

The other day I was reminded of a funny memory:
You remember when I had to get that colonoscopy in Arizona and how I had to take all that laxative stuff the day before? You laughed that whole day I spent in the bathroom. I think you called every family member, sharing laughs with them concerning my misery.


Mostly I just miss cuddling. I miss feeling you against my skin. I don't care how cheesy it sounds. I miss it and don't know how to fill this terrible void of your absence.
I love you.