Saturday, March 19th

I'd thought I was getting this crying issue under control. But I can see you looking at me over your glasses, skeptically, because you know I haven't. I just sat in the DC Basilica with tears streaming down my face. Likely not the first time it has happened in the pews, especially in those lighting candles for the dead. But I really must get ahold of myself. You nod, slowly, eyebrows lifting in humor. I HAVE, I insist, I cry about twice a day now. No more of this five-times-daily routine. You level your baby browns at me and gaze back.

Fine. We'll try something new. This is what I have to say.

1) I thought you looked so handsome in your reading glasses. A pair of your glasses, rimless silver masculine ones, sit with my sunglasses, and I imagine them on you every time I pass by. In these visions you're always wearing blue, and you're always thinking something quite intelligent. Perhaps you'd actually just be thinking that you're ready for a sandwich, but even mustard would be sexy on you in those reading glasses.

2) The trees are budding all around. There is a haze growing over the earth, twenty to fifty feet high. Each brach is becoming larger, tipped and ringed with green that can hardly be contained. Each day the view from my house is different. Life is rising here. You died when the earth was frozen and still. I'm angry for this, that this motion is in the trees, but your poor body gets none. I should stop it. Stop it. The earth can't help it. Mike. Let's try again. The trees are budding all around. Do you see?

3) You should be dancing in that funeral home of yours because John Kasich beat Trump in Ohio. The bigot lost. The normal guy from Ohio won. Your party is still in complete chaos, and Trump is still ahead, and the forces from every fairy tale known to man should be gathering to plan his defeat. Perhaps there's something you can do about this? Whisper in Boehner's ear? Ask Colin Powell to put Trump over his knee? You're caught, I feel it, you don't know what to say about your Republicans. Hah. I got you. I've got you here.

4) I'm planning a tree fort for the backyard. I will make sure things are bolted in tight. I will think of your toolboxes when it happens. I will say this to my kids.

5) I still want you to come back. The lack of a physical body is irrelevant to my desire.

6) I regret that I didn't pay more attention to football when you were alive. The stats bored me. I'm sorry. I will try to find a way to remember them. I now have a picture that your brother sent to me of you in football gear at 10. You're crouching. You might rush. You're probably making a football grimace inside your yellow helmet. That kid, that boy who I can build your adult body around, can he help me remember the scores. He cares about football. I need him.

7) A dad came up to the snack bar at the wrestling tournament a few weeks ago and ordered a pizza from me at the counter. He was polite. His hair was short. He looked athletic. He gave the name "Mike" for his order, and I had to turn away.

8) I've said enough things, and I think you're done now. Thank you for helping me to know when to stop. You usually did.

It's 8:08.