Sixteen years ago I met this fella. I knew immediately that there was something special about him. I told my friends the day I met him that I was going to marry him someday, and I did. He was an incredible person, friend, husband, and father. The most incredible father. He taught me so many things about love, and he showed all of us what love looked and felt like.

I’d mad that he’s not here. I miss him as my husband and as my parenting partner. I hate how scrambled my brain gets, I hate that I can’t keep our schedules straight, I hate that I get distracted and forget what I’m talking about mid conversation, and I hate feeling exhausted. I hate knowing that I’m so much older than I was three years ago. I hate not having his lighthearted jokes about being busy parents, laughing at our failures and high fiving our wins, I miss his hand on my shoulder letting me know that it’ll be okay. I miss seeing pride in his face after finishing something cool: taking down a tree, mowing the lawn just right, fixing something on the vehicles, power washing the driveway, or grilled the most perfect t bones on the grill. I hate doing all of his jobs knowing I’m not even close to doing it right. I hate that both kids ask questions that I don’t know how to answer. I hate that I don’t remember what being relaxed feels like.

If I could take a day or a month and write down the long list of things I’m mad about, I’d still forget a few. If I took that same time, and wrote down a list of all the gifts Aaron gave me, and the things I’m grateful for, I’d probably forget a few of those, too. But the list would be, without any doubt in my mind, a million times longer than the things I’m mad about.

Along with many other gifts, Aaron gave me the ability to believe in myself. He believed in me more than I did from time to time, and his pep talks just planted into my soul. There have been times that I’ve tried, really hard, to alter my principles, and I’ve heard his voice. “You’ve got this one right. Maybe not everybody else does, and that’s okay. Keep your footing, Mama.” And there have been times that I’ve needed to bend, and I leaned on him to help me with that.

There are times that my parenting isn’t perfect. My kids say mean things to each other, or do naughty things in general, and I add more to my giant parenting to-do list. But every once in a while they do or say something so profound, that I know that they still feel his love, too. They have his amazing heart and beautiful soul, and I see their pride when they tackle something hard. They love strong like him, they work hard like him, and they are true empaths, just like him. I hope that I can foster in both of them the incredible gift their daddy gave me. I hope they are able to believe in themselves. I hope they can be strong enough to be true to themselves, even if it’s against the grain. I hope they always feel gratitude, and appreciate many of the blessings in their lives. I hope they tell and show people how important they are, and how meaningful their relationships are. And my goodness, I hope they sing, dance, and laugh as loudly and shamelessly as Aaron did.