Seven years...

Seven years.  It seems like a lifetime and yet it seems like just last week.  There's so much I want to tell you and explain to you.  So many momentous events that you have missed.  So many times I have thought of you and what life would be like if you were still here.  So many times I have seen a rainbow or a deer and immediately thought of you.  So many times I have shed tears but immediately changed to a smile remembering your quick wit and mischievous grin.  I will forever remember the phone call that jarred me awake that August Saturday morning and the numbness that followed.  How I compartmentalized my feelings and took care of the arrangements to be gone from work but how I broke down on the drive to the school when I thought that now Daron and I would have to purchase a flower arrangement with "Brother" on it.  I will never forget the anxious feeling I had the entire five hour drive home to say goodbye for the final time.  And I will always remember the hollow feeling in my chest when I heard them issue your final page as we laid you to rest.
You have missed a lot in the last seven years.  You missed the birth of your nephew and watching him grow into the wild four year old that he is.  I know that you never met him; how could you?  You were gone three years before he made his entrance into the world but I swear, you whisper wishes and schemes to him in his sleep because he is so much like Uncle Mark.  He never stops shooting things and "hunting" in the living room.  He is currently obsessed with guns and says he is going hunting with mommy this year.  He knows about you as we keep your memory alive for him until he can finally meet you in Heaven.  I could only imagine how much trouble the two of you could get in to if you were still on Earth.
Last year was the first time since you left that I tagged a deer and as I stood in my tree stand after firing the single-shot twenty gauge that you gave me, I cried a little.  Not because of buck fever, but because it was the first time since I started hunting that I didn't have you or Dad there to share in my happiness and to help me with the "dirty work."  I swear your hand was on my shoulder telling me to take my time, breathe, and stop shaking so much the entire time I watched that buck walk in. And if it wasn't your hand steadying me it was your voice in my head calming me to ensure that I aimed accurately and hit my mark.
It's been seven years.  Your son was just ten.  And now as I have to look up at him I am astonished that he will soon be eighteen.  You would be amazed at the man he has become.  I always say that if I'm lucky enough that my son turns out to become like him I would be one lucky mom.  He is humble, kind, smart, sweet, caring, and witty.  He can shoot a gun like no other and has been incredibly successful in the shooting sports world as well as in the hunting realm.  I can't believe that soon he will be graduating from high school and embarking on his own path.  Mark, you would be so incredibly proud of the amazing man that he is and I wish you could be here in person to see it because I'm sure there would be no way to wipe the smile off of your face.
There are so many times that I wish I could hear your voice again.  So many times I look at the supper table at mom and dad's and feel an emptiness because you aren't sitting across the table asking for the gravy or telling a story.  So many times that I think your truck should be pulling into the drive at the farm on your way home from work.  But I know that won't happen again.  I know that I won't see your grin and hear your laugh in this world.  But for every time I have missed you, there is another time that I have smiled remembering the way you used to tell stories and how your voice would raise in pitch when you would imitate someone's voice.  Or how I have remembered the easy way you smiled and how genuine you were.  So as much as I am crying writing this, I am smiling because I know you are somewhere looking down on all of us-smiling at the man your son has become, imparting your love of hunting on your nephew, and watching over all of us.  And as much as I know you are "in a better place" I just wish Heaven wasn't so far away.