My life is always so busy. When Nick is home, I have to work around his schedule, which changes constantly. I never know what time he's going to be home from work, sometimes they have to go underway without much notice because of a storm, they're always changing how many duty sections there are, and which one he's in.... the list goes on. The Navy is unpredictable, and it's just a part of the military way of life. Then there's the kids' schedules. The events that are going on at school, PTA meetings, parent teacher conferences, etc. Then there's my schedule right now. I'm in school, and I don't get home until a few minutes before the kids get home. Then it's homework for them, then dinner, then showers, then bedtime for them, then homework for me.
Because of all the craziness that is my life, I hardly ever have the tv on. Nick has it on all the time when he's home, and it doesn't bother me because I can just tune it out with my magical powers of selective hearing that I got when I became a mother. But when he's not here, the only time I ever have it on is if there is a specific show on at that moment that I'm going to watch.
Most of the time, I enjoy the quiet. It helps me calm down and relax after a busy day. It's peaceful. But every once in a while, it just seems a little too quiet. Like something's missing. In those moments, I know that even if I turn the tv on to have some background noise, it's still going to be too quiet because the sound of the tv isn't what's missing.
It's the sound of having that extra person in the house. It's the sound of Nick playing games with the kids, or showing me some stupid thing he found on the internet on his phone.
But today, it's the sound of my brother's voice. He'd start making fun of one of us, and he would get so loud and not even realize how loud he was. It's the sound of the basketball that I'd hear him dribbling when I'd go over to his house. It's the sound of his favorite cds that he'd play all the time... Mr. Big, Hootie and the Blowfish, Boyz II Men.
It's the sound of happiness that would emanate from my parents' house when we all got together for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's.
Those are the sounds that are missing. We're still happy sometimes, but never quite as happy as we were back then. We still laugh, but never quite as hard. It's been 13 years, and today, his birthday, is still so hard. I want to call him and wish him a happy birthday, tell him funny stories about the kids, and hear him make fun of me for something. I want him to tell me about the newest pair of ugly-ass Air Jordans that he just couldn't resist buying. I want him to be friends with me on facebook and write stupid crap on my wall.
I just miss him.
