Something Missing…

Hi Mom. It’s a beautiful morning today. Almost feels like fall. I know you would be irked cause you wouldn’t want summer to end. In some ways I want it to be over. In others, I do not. I thought about this day and the following days a lot this summer. Always in front of me and bearing down on my time. I can’t even write enough about everything we missed out on this past year that you’ve been gone. As someone recently said, “you left us all behind….” Another person said to me that God takes the great ones. I truly believe that has to be the case. I guess I know that there are so many people that have so much love for you, really just the person you were to them maybe more than the person you were overall. As my mom, and as your firstborn, the pain seems to linger, like a wound that doesn’t close, but always has a Band-Aid on it. I will tell you I woke up with a lot more energy today than I did the last two days. Maybe because this day is really here. I wonder what your last day really on Earth was like this time last year. You probably got up before everyone and just did your normal routine. This is hard to type. Coffee and a smoke before the kids got up. Maybe turned on the radio. I imagine so excited for the day. I wish, oh how I wish, that my life was a lot better last year and I wasn’t trying to rid myself of baggage and drama and would’ve made the right choice to come down and see you guys like you asked me to on the 7th or 8th. One of those days is really the last time I saw you alive. I think it was a facetime call and you were in the background. Telling me to pack a bag and for some reason calling me a Delco Snob. Nothing was off at that moment. There were no signs of what was to come. I think you called me on the 8th and it was a missed call. I probably called you back, but I can’t recall cause much of last year is so blurry for all that we went through. I just remember a missed call because it was red on my phone log. I think of your routine. I am happy that you got to spend the day with everyone on the beach because that’s truly the place you belonged and the place that made you 100% happy. I think about you guys leaving the beach and going home and then I think about the next 24 hours and it doesn’t really help much. I want to think about good things, but they all have to be thoughts that happened before this rollercoaster we were set on.

This last year, so much was missing. Your late summer calls to come down to the beach. Your sadness over summer ending. Your excitement over the kids and going back to school. Your excitement over your Labor Day adventures with the kids. Your Halloween joy over decorating your door and your steps and all that you did to make the house nice. You and I talking about Philly sports teams. You and I talking about plans for Thanksgiving. Your birthday. I can’t even really talk about Christmas because it is so different without you around now. Your calls on Christmas Eve and your call on Christmas Day. The regret over the fact that it has been so long since I celebrated a normal Christmas with you. I realize now that life is so fragile that if even if you have to make people angry to explain how you feel, it’s worth it. I can’t even recall the last time you made me dinner, but I can recall all the good meals we had all over the place. Life is just not the same. I can only imagine how happy you would’ve been to see Kane, Ace and Lucy at Easter or how you would’ve been pretty thrilled to see the Phillies sign a star like Harper and have a manager like Kapler. I can only imagine your happiness at the possibility of us actually having spent a lot more time together at the beach. It was not to be. I have gone to the beach alone a lot this summer. Right now I am just not in a place to spend much time with anyone there yet. Many times I will look to my left or right when I am sitting or laying somewhere and I can see your face. I remember the last time I saw you cry cause you were worried about my diabetes. We were about to get breakfast at the Coffee Station and I didn’t come out of the Wawa quick enough and you got so worried you broke down and cried. That’s really the last time I can remember you crying. Here I know that you kept a lot of stress in….and now I know that keeping that in and living that life just isn’t good for anyone. In my mind I want to believe Heaven for you is a lot of freedom and surrounded by love with your family and friends. Denise and I were talking the other day about you two being up there together. I hope that you two are able to look down and laugh, smile, or cry. You’re both missed dearly. We could’ve made a lot of trips this summer. Just hanging out and enjoying the beach like we did the summer you got the Bitty. I know I won’t be able to get that, but God knows, we had so many good times. I guess like any son or daughter, it’s hard to realize the “lasts”. The last time we talked, laughed, cried, smiled, ate, or got excited over something. 

I don’t think I’ve lost faith in humanity, but I have lost faith in some things. I do have a belief that some people deserve more of a fighting chance. I also don’t understand why God spares some of the shitty people more time on this planet. Then again, maybe it’s so they have to live here without the good ones. I don’t know. Anger can only take me so far. I want to think about you and Pop Pop and all the special time you had together after Mom Mom passed. I know you both were really there for each other; maybe in the same way you were there for me later in life. All those damn times you two would drive up to the shop from the shore. All those summer days on Asbury. I wish the two of you stayed down there forever. I feel like the little amount of stress you had (maybe a daily trip to Boyar’s) was what you both deserved; not the angst over life in Folcroft or Darby. You belonged at the shore and that’s where you should’ve been. 

If I think too much about my future without you around, it will bring me down. I think about the time I spent waiting for certain things to happen and now my mom isn’t around to see certain things I look forward to happening. I know that I am not the only one who has lost a parent. I realize that. I guess I just imagined that you wouldn’t be gone so soon. 

I hardly worry about much these days. Work is work and nothing exciting there. Manayunk still Manayunk, but I do miss your visits. I found a lot of great food places outside of my area that you probably would’ve loved. Every time I see a picture from Newport, I typically think of 1 or 2 people. You get the idea. Part of me wants to have every part of my life just go through one big swooping change to get my mind off such a terrible last 12 months. I still don’t understand how we were able to handle all that medical stuff with absolutely no clue prior to that. I will never do that again. That was crazy. 

Anyhow Mom, going to get back to work. Well, really just sitting here in front of my screen. I don’t know where you are exactly, but I hope you’re happy. I hope you feel loved. I hope you are fulfilled in any way you weren’t down here. We miss you so much. We miss all the love and strength and joy you gave to all of us. I hope you are able to just be at peace and not anxious or stressed where you are. While I am happy you are not in some hospital bed or struggling to make ends meet, I am painfully sad that you are not physically here in my life. I hope someday I can make sense of it all. I hope that the next 42 years of my life are filled with the joy and love you brought to the last 42 and that all the stress and angst and struggle are hopefully behind me. I pray to God that we’ve filled that bucket several times in the last 40 years. I know some things shouldn’t have been the way they were and I know that I can make things right going forward. 

Give Pop Pop and Mom Mom a big hug for me. Tell John I said yo. Tell Mr. Donnelly that Folcroft is missing two legends. His family misses him dearly. Looks to be a really nice day today. I will look at my phone for a call, but I know it’s not coming. I guess I can hope for a miracle. Love you. Bobby. 


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