Something in the orange - a year without you

And I'm damned if I do, and I'm damned if I don't
'Cause if I say I miss you, I know that you won't
But I miss you in the mornings when I see the sun
Somethin' in the orange tells me we're not done
- Zach Bryan, Something in the Orange

Mark, 

Today is not a day that we should have on our calendar.  November 8th should be just a normal day.  A typical fall Saturday spent watching football and getting ready for your birthday and the holidays.  It has been a year to the day since you left and most of the time, it still doesn’t feel real to me.  I look at pictures from two or three years ago and realize that life, at that time, was as perfect as it was ever going to be. 

I miss you so damn much, Mark.  We all do.  I would give anything to have one more day, one more minute with you.  To hear your laugh one more time.  To go throw the ball or go on a bike ride.  To sit on your bed and watch you read or play video games, just to hold your hand one more time.  Life is incomplete without you in it.

There are so many questions that I have for you.  What is Heaven like, Mark?  Were you there to give Grandpa Randy a hug when he went to Heaven? Do you sit around with Uncle Larry and just make each other laugh all day long?  How often do you come and visit us?  Are you watching over your brother? Did God tell you why you were needed so badly in Heaven?

Last year, on your birthday, which was also your celebration of life, we came home from the church and we stood in the driveway and sang you Happy Birthday and released the balloons to you in Heaven.  As the balloons floated away into the sky, they formed the shape of an ‘M’ for a brief second.  I have no doubt in my mind that was you letting us know you had made it home. That was such a Mark move, to give us a sign to make sure that we knew you were okay.  Thank you, buddy.

I don’t know that as time goes on it will get any easier but I am pretty sure that it can’t get much harder.  We have had a whole year of ‘firsts’ navigating life without you.  We made it through our first Thanksgiving and Christmas, your favorite time of year.  It was our first time to ring in the New Year.  Jameson’s first birthday without his little brother wishing him, “…and many more”.  Our first Easter, Mother’s Day and Father’s day.  Our first family vacation, the first First day of school and the first Halloween.  There are so many other little everyday moments that you wouldn’t normally think twice about.  I can’t tell you how many times, over the last year, I walked into a store or restaurant or whatever and thought to myself, ‘the last time I was here, Mark was with me.’  Those moments are actually harder for me than the big ones.  

Today is the hardest day.  It is our first November 8th without you here.  Last year, on this day, when we woke up we didn’t know that it would be our last day to be with you.  Our last time to hold your hand, to brush the hair off your forehead, to tell you we loved you.  Selfishly, I wasn’t ready for you to go.  You always think that you have more time, even just one more day, until you don’t. 

It's important to me that you know that we are doing okay.  I think that we are doing as well as we possibly can.  We promised you that we would be okay and I think/hope that you would be proud of us for keeping that promise as best as we can.  We have good days and we have bad days; however, the good days definitely outweigh the bad ones.

I also want you to know that your life had a profound impact on everyone that knows your story.  It is our greatest joy to see that impact every day.  Over the last year we have had a front row seat to witness this in so many ways.  Your friends still wear your Mark’s Army shirts and wristbands.  You have a special bench in the courtyard at Pebble Creek Elementary.  You received a standing ovation at the Aggie Baseball game this spring with all of your friends there to support you/us.  We started your foundation and have raised quite a bit of money for research for DMG.  You are co-funding a grant for a clinical trial in Los Angeles for DMG.  These are just a few of the ways that your legacy is living on.  You left your Mark and will continue to do so.  I couldn’t be more proud of you.    

Seeing your soul in every blue and orange sunrise and sunset is bittersweet.  They are a reminder that you are with us, watching over us and pushing us to live our lives in a way that would make you proud.  At the same time, it breaks my heart to know that this is how we get to see you, for now.

I miss you in the mornings when I see the sun and something in the orange tells me we’re not done.

Love, 
Dad