Monday, November 21, 2005 1:39 AM CST
I found this note from Dave today. Not the first time. Not the first time I've seen this note, it's been tucked away for years. And not the first time I've found a note from Dave since he died. I've found many. Hundreds probably. Dave was a note-leaver. On the bathroom mirror, under my pillow, in my pockets, on my windshield. His love language was "acts of service." And that was how he showed his love. By doing the little things, things that showed he cared.
When I got ready to leave the house in winter, I'd find my windshield already scraped.
When I stayed up late, and Dave was already asleep, I'd find my toothbrush sitting next to the sink, toothpaste already applied, and my contact case waiting there, too.
When he was gone late to football games, he'd leave messages on the answering machine, singing songs, so I'd be able to hear his voice when I got home.
I can't tell you how much I miss him. I debated about putting this note on the website. But if you read it, maybe you'll understand just a little better how impossible it is to adjust to life without this man.
Now that he is, face-to-face with God, I wonder what he's saying. I wonder if he knows how much we miss him, how much I miss him. I know he knows how much we love him, how much I love him.
Tears today. Lots of tears.
Thanksgiving's around the corner. And I'm not grateful. I'm not.
Love, Shell
I found this note from Dave today. Not the first time. Not the first time I've seen this note, it's been tucked away for years. And not the first time I've found a note from Dave since he died. I've found many. Hundreds probably. Dave was a note-leaver. On the bathroom mirror, under my pillow, in my pockets, on my windshield. His love language was "acts of service." And that was how he showed his love. By doing the little things, things that showed he cared.
When I got ready to leave the house in winter, I'd find my windshield already scraped.
When I stayed up late, and Dave was already asleep, I'd find my toothbrush sitting next to the sink, toothpaste already applied, and my contact case waiting there, too.
When he was gone late to football games, he'd leave messages on the answering machine, singing songs, so I'd be able to hear his voice when I got home.
I can't tell you how much I miss him. I debated about putting this note on the website. But if you read it, maybe you'll understand just a little better how impossible it is to adjust to life without this man.
Now that he is, face-to-face with God, I wonder what he's saying. I wonder if he knows how much we miss him, how much I miss him. I know he knows how much we love him, how much I love him.
Tears today. Lots of tears.
Thanksgiving's around the corner. And I'm not grateful. I'm not.
Love, Shell
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