I miss you. I miss you so much it gets a little overwhelming sometimes. Some mornings I sit by the window in the kitchen, the one that looks out at sea. I can almost see you walking back home like you did on Sunday mornings after a few hours of fishing. Sometimes I start crying without even realizing it, and I don’t think I can do it any longer; living without you is so hard. But then our son finds me, his voice groggy, his eyes tired, his hair a mess. He looks just like you.
He always knows what to do to cheer me up. He climbs on my lap and hugs me. He tells me dumb jokes that are only funny because they’re so bad, just like yours. Sometimes he falls asleep again in my arms, and I realize you’re not completely gone because I still have him. He smells like you; he acts like you; he looks like you.
I miss you, Finn, even though it’s been six years since we lost you; I’ll never stop missing you.