Dear Peter

It’s been two weeks since you passed. Two weeks today. Two weeks today it was a normal Wednesday: up at five, let dogs out, read email, listen to you make coffee. Even after you said you didn’t feel well and were going back to bed, it felt like a normal day. Even though you didn’t feel up to letting the chickens out, which was extremely rare, I didn’t push for you to go to a doctor. I didn’t call 9-11. It was a normal day.

I was on the phone with the bank, looked out the window at the birds on the feeders: cardinals, red wing blackbirds, blue jays, wrens, flickers, and goldfinches among the minty-green tree leaves, just another day.

And then I found you…and normal would never be normal again.

Every day is hard without you, Peter.

I miss the thud of your bare feet on the floor boards, I miss your singing. I miss the world we inhabited together. I miss Peter the Curmudgeon, Cranky Peter, Bossy Peter, Stubborn Peter, Foolish Peter as much as I miss Bear Hug Peter, Funny Peter, Wise Peter, Smart Peter, Enthusiastic Peter, Thoughtful Peter, the Light in Peter.

The things that used to irritate me, I now find comfort in remembering. I wish I had appreciated every quirky moment with you.