January 13th is a day I dread every year. Eventually, I hope to celebrate the day our son earned his wings. I know we will get there one day. Oh, buddy, I miss your voice so much. We finally opened up our kitchen, and it has become a place of gathering—something our family has needed for so long. I wish you were here to sit on the counter, talk my ear off, play with your siblings, or mimic your dad.
Today was the first day I worked on January 13th in the past three years. Dad and I were so busy today, but we sure missed you fiercely! Small reminders of you at work, clearing my task list, and seeing your name. A special visitor, Lukey, wore the same camouflage boots you last wore. Those reminders force me to reminisce. You and Otto had Bogs snow boots, black with clovers, while yours were camouflage. The boots matched the camouflage coat you last wore to Mayo. During our last hospital stay, I had that dreadful feeling while putting that coat and boots in a plastic bag, silently questioning if you would ever wear them home. Those intrusive, invading thoughts felt like intuitions.
Yesterday, I went through Otto's clothes and realized that all your clothes are packed and cherished. If only I could feel you in them. I loved all the subtle reminders of seeing him in your clothes and recalling specific events from pictures I have of you. I will never forget my sister-in-law's surprise at all the precious pictures we had of you, which were evident at your funeral.
Reminders of you hang in a constant balance between wishing, hoping, and facing reality. I've been fortunate to have a few reminders, and I hope your dad also has. A Few weeks ago, after I dropped the kids off at school, a cardinal flew right in front of my windshield. Coincidentally, it was also the last day I drove to Kennedy because Riley is driving now! Time is a thief, but I've never been more grateful.
I rode with Dad plowing yesterday. It's the only time we get together on these snowy days, and I could tell we were both thinking of you. I reminded him about our time plowing three years ago, which had me in tears for no reason. We were plowing the bell bank, and I told him I was crying because I was worried about Archer, but I think he already knew.
My last and most recent reminder that you've got mail. Archer Peterson received mail on January 13th. Don't hold your breath; just another supply company that didn't realize Archer was gone; however, receiving that letter today was a clear sign sent special from heaven.
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