I picked up my phone to call Josh today.
He would have known just what to say.
He would have made me laugh.
He would have called my husband and made him laugh too.
He would have told us stories about his new life in a new place, and invite us to come visit him.
He probably would have told an hour long story and then asked advice about a girl.
He would have called me "G".
Part of me can't believe that I forgot for a moment that he's gone. But I guess that's how it happens.
Time changes things.
But this new, fresh wave of missing him and mourning our friendship feels like I'm starting all over again. Like the grief scab has been picked off.
I sat there with my phone in my hand. "Josh Baumann" on the screen. Ready to call him. Then the realization washed over me, and the agony was fresh again. All my breath forced itself out of me, like my lungs were trying to dry heave the grief out of my body.
And then there's the selfish part:
Josh is the only one I can go to in times like these. He's the only one who ever helps. And now we've lost him. We can't just replace him. No one else will do.
My heart just hurts.
I still can't believe I'll never see him again.
Who else will call me "G"?
He would have known just what to say.
He would have made me laugh.
He would have called my husband and made him laugh too.
He would have told us stories about his new life in a new place, and invite us to come visit him.
He probably would have told an hour long story and then asked advice about a girl.
He would have called me "G".
Part of me can't believe that I forgot for a moment that he's gone. But I guess that's how it happens.
Time changes things.
But this new, fresh wave of missing him and mourning our friendship feels like I'm starting all over again. Like the grief scab has been picked off.
I sat there with my phone in my hand. "Josh Baumann" on the screen. Ready to call him. Then the realization washed over me, and the agony was fresh again. All my breath forced itself out of me, like my lungs were trying to dry heave the grief out of my body.
And then there's the selfish part:
Josh is the only one I can go to in times like these. He's the only one who ever helps. And now we've lost him. We can't just replace him. No one else will do.
My heart just hurts.
I still can't believe I'll never see him again.
Who else will call me "G"?
