Frequent Blogging: Round Two Introduction

Someday his belly will stick out, like his dad's, and the hair covering his forehead will recede back to the crown of his head--but only near the temples, not the tuft in front. Like his dad's. My bangs will start to gray like my mom's, and the skin under my bright blue eyes will sag to the top of my cheek bones. He'll lose some muscle mass and I won't be able to run as far, but I'll still make him breakfast and he'll still prune the bushes outside.

And we'll still love each other. Like crazy. Probably even crazier.

I wonder what we'll tell our kids about these days. About the little duplex south of campus with the rose bushes in front and our charitable duplex neighbor whose dad also died last year. Our toilet that wouldn't stop running and the eerie crawl space in the four foot hallway. Our kids won't even be able to imagine it until we drive past, pointing--"There's our first house! And that's the apartment complex where Dad told me he loved me. And that wall--Dad built it! It's where I told him I was going on a mission. Yep, and we'd run down these streets every morning before school."

What if we forget? Surely details seem more memorable when they're connected with falling in love and being in love and making love and working for love. Still...memories fade, but I want these ones preserved forever. So that, you know, the little boat in the backyard isn't the only proof of when Dad wooed Mom or next thing you know we're complete empty nesters except for that little Free Bird and none of our little chicklets have any idea of what happened before them.

So here it is. If you're my mom, may your heart be warmed at the stories of the humble boy who came and swept your fourth off her feet; if I'm your mom, take these stories as examples when looking for the right one; if you're a far-future descendant--be grateful. You've got a rich history and I bothered to write it down.

And so, from stage right--enter e-Billy-ence!

UNFINISHED ENTRY: Comforting Billy

I was laying in bed thinking, just like he had done the day before. Today he was out moving snow, and I was in moving things around in my head.

Then the snow was all moved and he came back, not singing along with me like usual, not talking real loud or pinching my bum. Just pouring the cereal then saying the prayer then chewing and swallowing.

"You seem sad. You ok?" I put my arm around him, but he didn't look at me. He stared at the leftover milk in his bowl.

"Just thinking about my dad. Cus of that dream I had about your dad yesterday. In the dream, when your mom told us he really died, I started crying and crying as hard as I did when my dad died. It just made me think."

I slipped my hand in between his, looking at his profile. What else could I do? Touch and listen and wait, it always worked before and I knew it would work again.

"It just made me think about my dad on the mountain