Today wasn't an ideal anniversary, as if there could ever be such a thing. I've been down --very down-- for a while now. This week has been horrible; I honestly can't think of much of anything that hasn't gone wrong in one way or another, and I feel defeated. Then Adam awoke this morning with a fever and what I suspect is a case of the flu, which meant we couldn't do our usual planned activities to honor Logan's memory. While he laid on the couch feeling terrible, I dealt with the kids and school, went to the grocery store for ginger ale, stressed over a situation with what may or may not wind up being Isaac's baseball team, donated blood, visited Logan's grave, and got ready for the preschool Valentine party tomorrow. Then I came home and fell asleep. But I didn't cry. I didn't have time to cry.
I suppose that's a grim depiction of the day, but wasn't all bad. Though I can't point to a moment --and I wish with everything in me that there'd been an obvious 'yup, that's him' snip of time-- there were small things, like the two beautiful, brand new Corvettes that caught my eye from a distance and the single green toy Vette that I finally found after ransacking the diecast car aisle at Walmart. And there was also this:
As a general rule, I don't care much for spaghetti and meatballs, but it was one of Logan's favorites, so Adam likes to make it from time to time. So he dragged his sick bum off the couch to prepare it for us, and we ate it while watching Cars. Given my general distaste for the dish, I was surprised when I took a bite and realized that it was actually good. Maybe some of his best ever. So I sat there in my chair, eating and watching Logan's favorite movie and his favorite movie stars and watching as the rest of our family watched, too. It was a peaceful moment, and I was struck by the silent reverence they showed the film.
It's a good movie, but I think it was all for Logan. As it very well should have been.
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