10 years

10 years is a long time without someone you love. I have been meaning to post for almost a week now, but haven't been able to make myself do it. How do you write just a few sentences to capture what you're feeling after you've been without someone for so long?

Andrew, Sam's namesake, died 10 years ago on May 18. I still miss him every single day. I have never taken off the CURE bracelet that I first put on the day of his memorial service. I often think how proud he'd be that I wear jewelry every day because of him.

I've done a lot of thinking lately about how I think of and refer to Andrew. In college, I always thought of him as my best friend. He was older than I was (though I'm now older than he was when he died, which is nearly unfathomable to me), the person I told just about everything to, and probably the one person other than my mom and husband that I've seriously considered the most advice from.

Now that I'm just about the age he was when he died, it makes me rethink the nature of our relationship to some degree. John has filled the role that Andrew did, but the age difference isn't as obvious now, which makes real friendship a bit truer. When I really focus on Andrew, I realize that he was the big brother I never had. It would always be hard to lose a friend, no doubt, but losing him really was like losing family member. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about him, wonder what he'd be like if he were still here, and wish to the point of tears that he didn't have to die the way he did and when he did.

We'll have a lot to teach Sam as he grows up. It's our job to teach him all of the normal "stuff" that parents teach their kids, but it's also our job to try to help him connect as best he can with his birth culture and understand his adoptive status. It's also my job to make him know that we named him for a great man that helped to make his mommy who she is today. I think Andrew would be proud of both of us.