Your world is entirely new, now.

My Dear Little Bear,

If you were here, Daddy and I would put you in the golf cart with Maggie between us, and drive you around to see what has changed since you've been gone. We would show you the garden that E-Beth so lovingly helped to plant, it has nearly grown into a jungle. I am forever being frightened by the countless lizards that spring out at me, and delighted by the bunnies and butterflies. I am convinced that it is you wearing your orange shirt darting amongst the flowers, reminding me that you are never far away.

Your playground looks pretty much the same, except on your birthday we hung a wind chime in the tree above it. The one with your name on it, that someone anonymously sent after you passed. I still hate wind chimes, and I still think it's creepy that a person would do that, but I had a weak moment and you loved music so much, I thought it would make you happy. I hope you like that I give your favorite swing a push when I pass by.

It would be quiet driving around without hearing Bandit's bark, bark, barking. I know you were there to greet him when he crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Sometimes I find Maggie and Lucy in your room, they miss you too. As we drive past the fence, our horses Tazzy and Chance come running to greet us, I would remind you to watch your fingers as you feed them carrots. We would show you the new chickies, they should be laying eggs soon. We had a few more, but there was an unfortunate event that didn't end well.

Making the loop, we would drive past Grandma's little house. She still keeps your books and a few toys in a basket in her living room. Up the hill we would go to our house and you'd see the new outdoor dining room. Mommy and Daddy started building it on Mother's Day, and finished it on Father's Day. It's a really special place, the rain on the tin roof is like music.

Our tour would end inside where little has changed. Your books and toys, just like at Grandma's, are in their rightful place. One thing is noticeably different. On a table behind the sofa, sits Kermie, your ashes sewn lovingly inside him. In a box there are sweet mementos of people and places that were special to you. Reminders of your absence. I sometimes open the box and take out your set of keys, the ones with the Sheriff Woody keychain we bought at Legoland. Daddy and I miss taking you to Legoland. They built a new water park there. It is a place we would absolutely take you.

With Love To The Moon And Back,
Mommy