Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The Things I Miss

I miss having a reason to buy Golden Oreos.

The boys prefer Chips Ahoy, but not you, Addie. You couldn't stand chocolate (unless it was a Tootsie Roll, which, let's face it, isn't really chocolate at all). So it was Golden Oreos for you.

I miss hearing the sound of the package ripping open. I miss how you'd twist off the top of each one and lick the frosting.

That probably sounds silly, trivial actually. But it's something I think about quite often - along with a thousand and one other things I miss about you.

I miss our morning talks. We didn't have a lot of time, but the time we had was ours. Dad would leave with the boys and I'd have about 15 minutes before I needed to leave for school. There we'd sit, you reading the back of the cereal box. Me scrolling through Facebook and working on my peanut butter toast. So maybe not the talks so much. More just being there together.

I miss watching you put your hair up in a pony tail, smoothing out all the "bumps."

I miss seeing the lamp on in the window when I pull out of the driveway. Again, a simple thing. But a lamp on means you're sitting in the chair waiting for the bus.

I miss the homemade cards.

I miss that Ag Day t-shirt you always wore. Here I bought you the latest and greatest from the Gap and you opted to wear the free t-shirt you picked up in third grade.

I miss mozarella bites. The ones you always had me buy when the Schwan man visited. He gave us a bag after he heard you died. It sits unopened in the freezer and the Schwan man hasn't visited us in months. I suppose we weren't the best customers in the early days of our grief. We couldn't hardly make a decision and we certainly weren't in any shape to buy any frozen goods. And now, I just don't think I could place an order without the mozarella bites.

I miss how you'd yell "manners" when you saw a bright yellow car or truck tooling down the street. Isaac still does that every once in awhile.

I miss seeing you get off the bus and run up the driveway. I didn't get to see this too often, but when I did, you always had a smile on your face.

So carefree.

I miss Good Luck Charlie and Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. I hate to admit it, but your brothers have been deprived of some quality television because I don't know which number to plug into the remote.

I miss running my school projects by you. You know, the ones I was going to have my third-graders and fourth-graders do. You were always so good about that. Those kids are fifth-graders now. Almost ready for middle school.

I miss Marcel the Shell. Remember that video? Dad doesn't think it's nearly as funny as you and I do.

I miss shopping for you. Sometimes I'll torture myself by going through the girls section at Target. I try to figure out what you'd want. What you'd wear.

I miss hearing you ask me for a guinea pig and a hamster and a rabbit.

I miss hearing you read an ad for a guinea pig or a hamster or a rabbit verbatim off Craigslist.

I miss seeing you walk around in your faded pair of Nebraska flannel pants and polka-dotted robe (with the hood pulled up all thug-like).

I miss putting a towel down on your pillow so it wouldn't get all wet from your hair after a shower.

I miss signing your planner and your fold-ables.

I miss your friends.

I miss making waffles. In fact, we haven't had them since you died. That was a family thing. Everybody had their part. Eggs. Oil. Powder. And me pretending to beat on the pancakes like a drum.

I miss the extra laundry.

I miss having you there in the background. Just sitting there. On the computer. On the iPad. Chiming in with a comment (or a comeback if needed).

I miss calling you on the phone every day on my way home from school. I miss asking you about the favorite part of your day. I miss your answers.

I miss looking in the rearview mirror and seeing your face.

I miss hearing you yell at Isaac when he'd pull your hair.

I miss your patience. And I wish I had some of it.

I miss the schedule. The hustle. The bustle. The here. The there. We just don't have anywhere to be now.

I miss your laugh.

I miss the way you fit in my arms. Sometimes I sneak into your closet, take a shirt off a hanger and just hold it to remember how little you were.

I miss waking you up in the morning.

I miss tucking you in at night.

And a thousand and one things in-between.

I miss the good mornings, the goodbyes, the good nights and the I love yous.

But most of all, I miss you.


  1. I am so sorry for your loss. My heart breaks when I read about your sweet daughter.

  2. Thank you for your kind words. Hold those you love close and hug them tight.

  3. Ohhh how precious are your memories...what a joy giver she was and is thru your memories and the love that's sealed into your lives forever.one day closer......

  4. I hate that I look forward to your posts. I hate that you are in this situation. But I love hearing about Addie and your family. She was truely a blessing. Her smile is contagious. Thank you for the reminder to enjoy the little things. Easy to forget sometimes.

  5. I just don't know how you do it my friend. As I read your post I can just imagine your feelings, as I share those things with my kids and KNOW I NEED TO APPRECIATE those more. You just don't know what the Lord has planned for us no matter how much we think we are in charge and "control" HAHAHA!! Jamie I wish I could write something to help give you a little peace, cause I think that is about all you can ask for at this time. Saying prayers for you all.

  6. Marcel the Shell...I remember when Addie showed me that video, you two couldn't stop laughing about it.

  7. I do not know your family but I feel like I do after reading your blog. I have an Addie of my own and your Addie has certainly touched my life. Her smile brings a smile to my face and it seems as if she truly enjoyed life. I can't imagine what you and your family have gone through and I thank you for sharing bits and pieces of it with us. My heart aches for all of you and I am sending prayers to you all.

  8. Thank you all for your words of support. It means so much to our family.

  9. Jamie, We are so sorry you have to go through this and wish there was more we could do. Know you and your family are in our Thoughts and Prayers daily! God Bless you all! Stacey

    1. Just knowing that you're thinking about us is enough, Stacey. Thank you...

  10. Today when I opened my desk drawer and fumbled around for a pen at school I reached way back to the back and there were my tootsie rolls in the tootsie roll can from Addie. Tucked away for when I needed just a little something sweet at the end of the day. I remember the day as if it was yesterday when she popped in my office to tell me merry Christmas and thanking me for being her counselor. The can was empty, but so full of memories. I know that's why it is tucked in my drawer-to remind me of sweet, sweet Addie.

    1. So glad to hear that she thanked you. You never know what's going to happen when you send those Christmas gifts to school (if they'll get to hand-deliver or what). You definitely helped make the transition to a new school easy for Addie, so THANK YOU for that. Thanks also for sharing the fact that a Tootsie Roll reminded you of her. It makes my heart smile to know that little things trigger memories for other people too. For me, of course, she is everywhere.

  11. I miss Addie so much!!! Especially when the kids are getting on the bus in the morning. Not a day goes by that I do not think of her!!!!!


    1. Thank you for thinking of her so often. That means so much.

  12. I so appreciate you leaving a comment on my page. Addie's story is one that has stuck with me and I think and pray about your family often. This post has me crying and smiling all at once. Would you be okay if I shared your post/blog on my site? I hope you don't think I'm out of line by asking, I just know there are many people in this world who are hurting and the way you express it so openly and beautiful is something I think many people could benefit from reading.

    1. Crying and smiling is something we do a lot in our house. Yes, feel free to share. Thank you for stopping by and for your support.

  13. I read this on Taylor Grace's blog and had to hop over to share a virtual hug with a total stranger. Thank you for sharing your raw and tender and beautiful and broken and love-filled heart. As a mother of three, soon to be four, I read so much joy and pain in this. May your memories stay strong, may your heart heal a bit more each day.