Firsts. Lasts.

It was a beautiful day.  Warm, sunny. Perfect for time outside.  After work I opened the back door and almost stepped out to sit on the patio until Joe got home.  But I stopped myself.  Because that’s what Zoey and I would have done.  It’s how we spent many evenings last summer.

There are many things I haven’t done since she left us.  I slept in “our” chair for about a week after she died, but I haven’t sat down in it since.  I haven’t walked the neighborhood like the three of us did so many times.  I haven’t sat outside waiting for Joe to get home.

I read my friend’s blog about her daughter’s life.  And about her last moments.  And I thought about “the last time” with Zoey.  The last time we walked with her.  The last time we bathed her.  The last time I sat outside with her.  The last time I looked in those beautiful blue eyes.  The last time I felt her heart beat.

I’m kicking myself for not journaling more during her life.  I took photos every day, but I didn’t write notes about what we did or the little things that made her who she was or just about our daily life together for those four months.  It’s now my mission to write down as many memories as I can.  I want to remember the firsts, the lasts and everything in between.



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