Happy Anniversary

Today would have been our nine year anniversary.

Nine years.

This is how our day was supposed to go: I would have woken up this morning at some ridiculously early hour, watched tv or read a book, before having breakfast alone and packing up Mira's lunch and school bag. Eventually I would have woken her up and gotten her ready for school. You'd still be asleep, being off from work today, and Amira and I would whisper a quick goodbye before running out the door to get to school on time. By the time I returned, you'd be in the beginning stages of waking up and in lieu of "Happy Anniversary" you would have greeted me the exact same way you did every other morning, "Water. Juice. Bananas" which I would have begrudgingly brought your lazy ass. By that time the tv in our bedroom would be on ESPN2 and you'd be getting ready for First Take. Laptop on, notebooks open, spreadsheets and various football magazines scattered in front of you on the bed, as you put it, it'd be time to get to work.

Cell phone in hand, you'd have started calling your brother while I shook my head and exited the room. By the time I got myself together and climbed on to the elliptical, you and Dwight would be in full analyst mode, breaking down the previous week's games, reliving your favorite moments, predicting who'd win big this week and by how many points. Thirty minutes or so into my workout you'd holler at me to bring you a pee bucket.

I'd laugh at you.

Ten minutes later you'd leave the bathroom, sneak up behind me and slap my ass on your way into the kitchen for more juice while I'd scream and damn near fall off the elliptical.

I fell for this trick every, single day.

After my workout I'd hop in the shower while you went down to the basement to make popcorn in the theater. Eventually I'd come downstairs with water for me and Izze's fake soda for you. We'd binge eat popcorn and binge watch Empire and Paternity Court until it was time to pick up Amira from school, you speeding the entire way so we could make it to the Diner in time for brunch. You'd complain about my $12 dollar salad during the entire meal. I'd text angry messages to Michele about how much I wanted to kick your penny pinching ass. We'd go home, stopping at Home Depot, Best Buy and any other store I'd let you get away with dragging us to even though it's a school night and we should have long been home

And eventuallly we'd get there. Eventually I'd put our daughter to bed. Eventually we'd be alone.

Eventually...

It's so different now, babe.

When I take Amira to school each day, we don't peek in at you while you lay sleeping in bed with the tv on. In fact, other than to put laundry away or get dressed, I no longer go into our bedroom at all (the door stays closed and that direct tv's been shut off). After I drop her off I come home and immediately go into the dining room, your media room, and I put on ESPN2. I laugh at Mike and Mike, Stephen A and Max Kellerman (nope, he's not as good as Skip), Michael and Jemele, and I listen intently to every bit of football news they dole out. I listen just in case there's something important to be shared. I listen as though there were still someone to share it with. I listen because it's what I've done for 9 straight years.

I listen.

At night, Amira and I sleep on the futon in the dining room, a practice we started when you were in the hospital and first Fareeda, and then Maggie came to stay with us to help out. Three months later, we're still sleeping on the spare pull out, the same way we did when we were told you were making a miraculous recovery. We sleep there as if you were still in the hospital, as if this were a temporary situation that would soon be fixed. As if you were still coming home.

I usually wake up at around midnight. Depending on what day of the week it is I turn on NFL network, or ESPN and if there are no games to be rehashed, I put on The Middle instead. And I remember. I remember how we used to laugh at this silly sitcom. I remember how we felt like it was a family comedy that actually got it right

I remember.

Here's what I would tell you if you were still here.

The Bears still suck. They're 0-3 this season and Jay Cutler actually LEFT A GAME after hurting his thumb. If you were here you'd have his jersey laid out at the front door again, ensuring that anyone who entered our home had to step on Cutler's jersey at least twice a day.

The Pats are 3-0 WITHOUT Brady and Jimmy G. If you were here you'd echo Dwight's sentiments, that until the Pats are without Bill Belichick you'd never bet against them.

Amira and I are both getting counseling. During her first session she told her counselor that her daddy had two cars and didn't eat first thing in the morning. :-) She brags about you everyday.

My counselor says I'm still in shock, that I'm in the denial phase of grief. She's right.

Your co-workers still call to check on us. They've all been so lovely, I'd like to try and hook one up with Asia or Fareeda but my matchmaking skills are nowhere near what yours were. :-)

Fareeda got a new job! She's a domestic violence attorney and oh my God, how proud you'd be!

And finally, the last thing that I've been dying to tell you these past few weeks is this:

I saw him.

Riding the bus, not even in Evanston but in Chicago, I saw the man you credit with getting you through the academy, the man you said was more of an inspiration to you than Kurt Warner, Walter Payton and Barack Obama put together. Lorenzo, I saw "the midget". Yes, that's right, I saw your favorite person on the planet, the little person (yes, LITTLE PERSON, that IS the politically correct term!) who worked security for the CTA. The little person you've spent damn near 5 years talking about and whom neither one of us had ever seen again.

I saw him.

And THAT is how I know that you're still here.

Happy Anniversary babe. I love you...