Your life still exists here.

You know how you get to pretend like you have no connections to anyone or anything from the first 50 years of your life? You wake up every day and go about your business as if none of us exist. 

You don't have to look at us. Or talk to us. Or be reminded of us in any way. 

You have new friends, new love, new priorities ... new everything. 

It must be sort of exciting. You can build your life how you want it to be. Tell people only what you want them to know. It's a grand adventure for you. 

But here's the truth. 

You are still here. 

Your life still exists here. 

We remember all of it. We are reminded of you every day, in so many ways. 

Every time I see Kati, the first words out of her mouth after, "Hi, how are you?" are, "Have you head from my dad?" You can see the hope behind her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to hide it. And when I sign no, the dark that flashes over her face is impossible to hide. 

She tries to blow it off, be tough about it. Pretend like it doesn't bother her. But it does. 

Your friends check in with me more than you might think. They ask how you are, if I've heard from you. They try not to ask "What the hell happened?" and are almost never successful in holding back. They aren't being nosy or railing on you. At the heart of it, they're scared. They're worried about you because none of this makes sense and they don't understand how you can be OK and still be AWOL. They can't believe you'd walk away from the first 50 years as if they didn't happen. 

I am surrounded by you and you dominate every single thought in my head. I see you everywhere I look when I'm at home. You are in absolutely all of my memories from the past 20 years. And because I can't make any of it make sense either, it just plays like this endless loop tape. The past four years are filled with the contradictions of your words and actions. I have dissected every bit of everything and I still can't shake the feeling in my gut that tells me to keep loving you. 

You are in the car with us. You are on the sofa with us. You are building the back porch on Highway H with us. You are in the combine with us. You are fishing in TN with us. You are chopping wood with us. You are loading the horse trailer with us. You are fighting in the Pub's parking lot with us. You are digging a hole at the cemetary after dark with us. You are getting a massage on the beach with us. You are watching a softball game in Delavan with us. You are decorating the Christmas tree with us. You are pulling the sled with the 4-wheeler with us. You are watching the tent roll across the makeshift campground with us. You are driving to Missouri with us. You are helping with homework with us. You are pointing out elk poop at the Grand Canyon with us. You are sitting in your tree stand with us. You are eating Eggs Benedict with us. 

You still exist here. 

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