Still in My Contacts

Another drive, and another wave of thought bubbles I can’t keep up with—just like so many over the last five years.

I wish I could’ve picked up the phone and called you to talk. Just talk. Spill the tea.

 

There have been so many moments when I’ve scrolled through my contacts and still see your name. I can’t bring myself to delete it, even though I know it’s no longer your number.

 

I wish I could’ve called you to vent about my daughter’s struggles, to celebrate your kids’ milestones, to say You’d be so proud.

I wish you could see your own kids now—how they’ve grown.

 

And today… I’m going to photograph your first grandbaby. One year old. She’s turning one. And I know without a doubt you would’ve been wrapped around her little finger, showing her off to everyone, spoiling her in all the best ways.

 

She’s beautiful—big blue eyes, full of sweetness.

 

You should be here.

 

We should be chasing toddlers together and planning playdates.

But God had other plans.

 

And sometimes, life just isn’t fair.

 

It’s a Saturday. The kind of Saturday that leaves a lump in your throat and a heaviness in your chest.

But tomorrow is Sunday.

 

And I’ve learned:

There’s no crying on Sundays.

July 5, 2025