Today your sister got out your peanut butter. I say your peanut butter because I remember why I got it just for you.

Remember the organic natural stuff that had to be stirred together because the oil floated to the top? You hated that. Everyone hated trying to mix it up. But for you, with so much energy devoted to holding back your pain, even stirring up peanut butter wasn’t worth it. So you’d go without.

I made a special note to buy 12 jars when we went over the border where the natural no-need-to-stir peanut butter was sold. A few jars are still left in the pantry waiting for you to use them. Bottom shelf, way in the back.

When McKenna brought one out and I saw it on the counter, there you were. I could picture you busily preparing your sandwiches to take to work. Back when you were alive and a part of this household and I knew you’d always come home at night. I miss your 6’3 frame. I miss the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen and your 31×36 Wranglers. I didn’t know God created you to live just 18 years, 363 days.  Would I have said yes, if I did know?

YES, because I would take special trips for peanut butter, and special trips when you missed the bus, and special trips to any psychiatrist that could diagnose you and save your life, over no special trips at all.

We are all trying to heal down here without you. But sometimes my throat closes up and missing you steals me away. Even when it’s just peanut butter.