Our little wildflower girl. Yours is an untamed life planted not in any kind of mannerly row, but in a hidden, marvelous pattern known only to you and to God – impossibly perfect in its imperfection. No planter, no garden, no field is capable of containing your spirit; not even earth was able to hold you for very long.

The slower pace I created for myself in October allowed extra breathing room, and staying fairly disconnected from social media made it less overwhelming.

You’d think after three years situations like this wouldn’t affect me so strongly, but in the same way that we go from crawling to walking, grief also changes and evolves with time. 

These seasonal transitions are tough, babe. We move from summer to fall once more, but you’re still gone. The undeniable passage of time is a halting reminder of the permanence of death.

But hand in hand with grief, the changing seasons are also a reminder of life and the simple fact that we’re still here living it.

And what a beautiful privilege that is.

For our family, Father’s Day didn’t look like a Target ad; there was no barbecue on a shiny new grill, no whiskey glasses and leather chairs, no new TV and no new watch. 

Our Father’s Day celebration did include all of your Grandpas. 

It also included a trip to the cemetery. 

How is it already August? Summer is flying by.

July was a big month for our family and you made your presence known every step of the way.