Dear Nala:

There was a phrase that I must have uttered to Paige like 100 times or more today, "Your mom."  Remember how we used to do that to each other all of the time?

We'd say something seemingly innocent, like, "That really was difficult."  Then you or I would respond with, "Your mom."  And we'd cleverly retort, "YOUR mom!"  Sometimes, it wasn't so innocent, and instead was closer to something a 13 year old boy would appreciate.  Like maybe me saying, "I'm hot right now," clearly referring to the weather or something.  You'd say, "Your mom," and I'd say, "Ewww!"  

I miss our banter so much.  You and I did that so often, that it became difficult to control.  I accidentally said it to Henry on one of my last trips to West Palm.  He said something, and I muttered it before realizing what I was saying.  Fortunately, he either ignored it or didn't noticed it, because you can't say such a thing to just anyone.  

Your presence was always with me, no matter what place I found myself in, no matter the time of day, and no matter how I felt.  I carried you with me everywhere.  I could feel you without thinking.  

I'd give anything to feel like that again.  To know that you were waiting for me when I open the door to our home.  To know that I could pick up the phone and call you.  To hear "Your Mom" shouted randomly from across the house.  

I love how we were more than life itself.  All of the little things like this are what continue to make me feel so damned empty.  It's like I'm half a person now, just watching life happen to everyone else.  It's a numbing reality of emptiness that doesn't have any light in sight.  

That emptiness was widened more than ever today.  You and I know why.  I'd do anything in the world and give everything I have to talk to you again and let you know how much I love you.  I told you every time we spoke and I still don't feel like I told you enough.  

Love,

Your Simba