Five years

I hardly know what to say. Five years ago today was the last time I spoke to my son, Bill.
Most days, I do fine. Some days, the least little thing sets me off in tears. Yesterday, a co-worker mentioned she hoped we get a good snow before the winter is over, so that she and her grandkids can run barefoot through the snow. Tears sprang right up in my eyes, and I was sobbing before I could stop myself. The poor woman thought she'd said something wrong- trying to quickly explain how walking barefoot in the snow for a few minutes was an old custom to strengthen the immune system.
  But I had remembered Bill, and the barefoot in the snow incident, and it just hit. I miss him so much. (When Bill was about nine, we had a big snowfall. He asked to check the mail- and ran out the door in his bare feet. A few minutes later, Becky heard him crying,  "Bring me my shooooooeees!" as he laid in the snow with his cold feet in the air.)
  He's been gone 1825 days.
Most of the time, I am comforted. We talk to one another in my dreams from time to time. I always seem to know I am dreaming, and that he is gone, yet there we are.  We laugh and talk, and when it is time for me to awaken, he says goodbye, and I wake up with a light heart. And there are times when I reach for the phone to call him, and the loss hits so hard.
More often than not, I can laugh at the good times we had.
This was a big anniversary- five years. First, it was one month... then two, six months, a year. My heart still hurts.