I've rewritten this over and over again. Every year, November 9th passes and I think of you. I try to be good, someone you could be proud of. I feel like I've failed you since you left. I think we all feel that way.

I miss you every day, Amy. Every damn day. I remember your voice still, though I haven't heard it in 8 years. I remember the love you showed every child in your life, including me. And I remember the moment I found out you were gone.

I was waiting for my mom after school- your best friend in the whole world. And my mom, she was running late. It was 4:30 on a Monday. Patrick had just turned 7. And I remember waiting. Waiting for my mom to come get me from school.

And then the office lady called me in.

She said mom was running late. She didn't say why, but I knew.

You had been on hospice for weeks by that day. We all knew it was coming. And yet, we weren't ready. You were only 40 years old! You were fine that summer, when we all went to Wisconsin. Fine! A little bald, but fine nonetheless.

And then one day, you weren't fine. And then, you were gone.

I wish I could say that I remember every single detail about you, your personality. But unfortunately, time not only heals wounds- it erases the thing that hurt you.

I wish you could see Emily today. She and I, we're best friends again. It's wonderful.

She looks like you.