Monday will be three years. It is hard to even begin to wrap my mind around that fact.
But on these days, days like Monday or even days like today, days full of heartbreaking memories, I get sucked back into the depths of that grief.
Yesterday Henry and I were walking to get candy for his Valentines and I said something about his Aunt Mimi. He asked me how old Aunt Mimi was when she died, and I said she was 30. "How is that even possible?" he asked. I just looked at him and said "I don't know baby. Sometimes it happens, but it is very rare."
Sometimes people die too soon. I wish he didn't have to know that. I wish I didn't either.