If you had grown old

If you had grown old you would have been the first to tell me to stop dying my hair with that stupid box color and sit down in your chair. You would have fussed every time I didn't like it, but you would have gladly changed it until I was happy. We'd probably agree to disagree about the fact that I now have bangs.

You would laugh at the fact that I grew up to enjoy Kombucha. I laugh at this.

Goodness – you would love the restaurants that we have now. I never asked, but I bet you would've loved to spend too much money on charcuterie boards like me just because it makes you feel fancy.

I bet you would say yes every time I called you to ask you to go to Final Cut with me and I have no doubt in mind that you would try and stuff yourself into the ridiculous glittery dress that was hiding at the bottom of the box or make me do it so that you could take a picture. You would have most definitely posted in on Facebook afterwards. I wish was cool then, then I could look back now on your memories.

I joke a lot about wanting a chihuahua . . . but you would've convinced me to really get one.

I kill plants on the regular, but I bet you would've taught me the best way to keep them alive or which ones to buy so that I could keep on forgetting to water them and they'd be fine anyway.

I would have got you back for that one time you unscrewed the lid on the red pepper seed and handed it to me to use. Yo Pizza is gone by the way and the deli isn't the same – but we won't get into that.

You would really like Lee. You would probably pick on him just the same as me, but in the end, I know you would secretly love him.

You would have made sure that I wore my hair up on my wedding day and that the Twist was played so that Da + Pa would steal the dance floor.

I'm not pregnant yet, but if I was, you would tell me there was a mini me hanging out in there and that she would be spoiled rotten too. When a craving struck, you'd give me a can of tuna in easy mac. You'd be there for it all but you would've told me that the baby name I chose was strange. You would have gladly hung a picture of her on the mirror at work so the old ladies could see.

I can't recall how you took your coffee (if at all), but we would've discovered that too.

It's been 11 years, 11 whole years of you getting to hang out with Jesus. Selfishly, I wish you were here to have done all of these things with me, but selflessly I know that you're home.