October 6, 2002. 14 years and a week ago. That's the day

October 6, 2002.
14 years and a week ago.
That's the day you died.
The day some man in an eighteen-wheeler decided to be careless.
The day a woman lost her husband.
The day a father lost their son.
The day a brother and sister lost their brother.
The day newphews and neices lost their uncle.
The day two parent-in-laws lost their only son-in-law.
The day two daughters lost their father.

I carry a picture of you and me in my purse.
It has been there since I've bought that purse.
It has been in backpacks and wallets before that.
You may not be here, but you are always with me.

I'll always be mad at the man who killed you.
But I can't help but hope that he can live with what he did.
He also had everything we lost.
I couldn't live with myself knowing that he didn't live his life fully after killing you.
I know he didn't do it on purpose.

We had to put down Minnie a few months back.
I like to think you met her at the gates.
If they do exist. And I'm hoping they do.

14 years doesn't change the fact that I'll ever forget the day I was told you weren't coming home.
Even Minnie was standing there with us on that lawn.
I will forever be thankful my last words to you were "I love you."
I will forever be thankful that I got to hug you goodbye before we lef the house.
I don't know how I got so lucky, thinking about it.
Luckily but unlucky. I'll take what I got. It's better than most.

Your tattoo will be on me forever.
You will be with me forever.
I will tell my future husband all about you.
I will tell your grandchildren how great of a man you were.

I love you.