i didn't believe it until i actually saw him. he looked like a tree, so big and tall and strong. it seemed so impossible that he would make it back to us, after watching and reading about all the crap that's going on with the war and the military in the middle east. so many others haven't. i don't know if he'll make it back home again. then again, i don't know if any of us will. tomorrow isn't promised to anyone. life is a terminal illness. we have to pack in as much serious fun as we possibly can.
so this is my christmas present: to goof off with him like there's no tomorrow. to take lots of pictures. to look over his music set up on his compaq laptop and hear his ideas and be supportive and encouraging. to listen to the sound of his nasally voice booming through the house, laughing and arguing and thinking out loud. to not complain too much when he won't stop playing bread and america and anne murray and don henley and billy joel as we drive through the city, horsing around. to dance with him at every pit stop on our road trip to charleston, sc. to not mind at all when he makes fun of my lousy crunk dancing. to watch him down a heineken over lunch with me and little debbie and think, my God -- i changed his diapers...
it's going to be a good christmas.
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