A Blessedly Ordinary December Fifth

It's that day.  Leading up to that day is a life time of days.  A life which should have had more time to live many more days.

I wish I could remember some other December 5th as vividly as I do this one.   Perhaps it would be one that came many life time days before.

It might be just an ordinary day.  Maybe a bustling morning. Everyone getting ready for school or work.  Joe would be up and dressed, pouring himself a bowl of his favorite cereal.
Jimmy would come into the kitchen and there would be banter between Joe and his brother.  "Stop taking my stuff."  "I didn't touch your stuff."  "Ma, can you make him leave my things alone."
I would be distracted by making lunches, calling for Jen to get up and get ready, thinking about that project at work that was overdue. 
I would say something like, "Come on you guys, let's get going here." hardly giving either of them a glance. 
After work, I would stop at the grocery store on the way home to pick up something for dinner.   The meal could have been one of Joe's favorites.   Joe would have smiled when he sat down at the table.  Joe had the most precious smile.  It was a sweet shy smile. 

What if it that long ago December 5th were a Thursday evening and snow was in the forecast.   The kids would be all excited hoping for a day off from school and a weekend of snowmobiling.

The evening would be spent doing what we each would do every other ordinary Thursday evening.

Watching TV, listening to music, reading, strumming a guitar, yes even crocheting or knitting too.

On that December 5th I would not have woken up with an overwhelming sadness in my heart. I might not have even remembered what the date was. 

It would have been just a blessedly ordinary December 5th.

My son Joe passed away on December 5th, 2011 from colon cancer.  He was thirty-four years old.
He lived tens of thousands of ordinary days.  I am grateful for every one of them.