Carson told Robin when she was really little that instead of saying "I love you", she would rather say "you I love". Because if it's the last time you see that person, the last word you said to them was "love." There's so much truth and goodness to that! Just like the goodness Robin brought to our lives.
So today is the day. One year. "Miss" is too weak a word. I can't quite think of a word that describes this last year of firsts without her. The last time I saw her was August 25, 2016 at 3:22 PM at the gas station. The reason I know it was 3:22 is because I looked at the clock and couldn't believe that she wasn't already in the carpool line to get Carson at 3:45. She liked to be the first one Carson would see when she would walk out. We both smiled and waved, as both of us were on our phones, per usual...and I'm sure both of us were assuming that we would see each other after carpool in the cul-de-sac in the next 20 minutes anyway. But God had another plan. Since that time I have thought of 1000 things I wished that I could have said to her, if I had only known it would be the last time I would see her.
Supposedly, as I've read, "grief is just love with no place to go." This year of firsts has been hard. But I am forever grateful for Carson, Billy, Tricia, Cheryl, and Bergen, and all the friends who knew and loved Robin who have given me a place to put that love. Especially those who have asked how everyone is and who have listened to my Robin stories. Thank you! Sharing definitely eases the pain. She loved us all so hard and so fiercely. And she would also love knowing how frequently her name comes up in our conversations.
In her absence so much has happened. So much I wish we could talk about. There have been birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and every day life…teen drama, mama drama, she would have gotten a kick out of the third-world-like illnesses at the Baker house this year, car accidents, my exercise induced panic attack that sent me to urgent care, drama in The Acres, and all sorts of stuff. I have cackled and belly laughed by myself in my car thinking about her while passersby probably thought that I was crazy. I have sat silently and mindlessly recalling some of my favorite times with her, wanting to hear her voice again. There have even been times that I have said "oh my gosh I've got to tell Robin", only to feel the blow of reality. Then there are the deep moments of grief, I feel they have aged me…a lot. She would thoroughly enjoy the new wrinkles that have popped up on my face and the ridiculous amount of gray hairs that have sprouted. And then she would encourage me to let Billy color it...because he just LOVED to do hers! 😜 But I have also felt an urge to live life to its fullest. I have found myself seizing opportunities and having confidence to do things I wouldn't have ordinarily done. It's been a gift in this ugly, dark time.
Instinctively, I still look across the street and wonder when she's going to be home. And I also miss her phone calls first thing in the morning and her walking over to sample my dinners while I was cooking...because she wasn't. I am blessed to have had her directly across the street and in my every day life for 10 years. She may be gone, but I'll never forget the pizzazz she added to my life. I said in her eulogy that I have never had a friend quite like Robin, and I doubt that I ever will again. And I still feel the same way a year later.
I would love to think that she can see this post and know how much she's missed, but I know better than that. I know that where she is is far greater than anywhere here on earth. But I'm still waiting on that cell service to Heaven, or at the very least a Facebook page! It sure would take grieving down a notch.
Any who... we made it through the "firsts" and we're on to "seconds". And I'll always be wishing she was here while celebrating her memory every single day.
"You I love", sweet friend!
