I miss you most at night.

Those days when you would come home late from work, and creep in silently so you wouldn’t wake me, even though you just knew I would be awake, waiting for you.

The way you would act surprised to see me up, and hurt when I would pretend to be sleeping.

The way you ruffled up my hair and called me kiddo because you were just five years older than me, and you liked to rub it in my face every day.

Especially the way we would talk at night. You would tell me that as a nineteen year old I was still a baby, and as a 24 year old you were inclined to find me a nice babysitter for when you were away.

I miss the way it would be so late and you would be so tired, that you would just pull your shirt over your head, toss it on the floor, and crawl into bed with me and sometimes have just enough time to say ‘I love you’ before you fell asleep with your arms wrapped around me.

I miss the way I would get so mad because you worked so much, and then you would come home and kiss me and all my anger would be forgotten in a matter of seconds.

You were the reason I got up every day and lived life, even if it was just to see you for those precious moments at night.

Some people have forgotten you, they call it ‘moving on’. I call it losing a piece of their soul. You were a part of everyone you met, hon.

You were my life. I think of you every time I take a breath and remember that you’re no longer breathing. Every time I lay in bed and remember that you won’t be coming home anymore. Every time I wake up and you’re not there . . . and your side of the bed is all made up.

But out of all the times in the day I miss you, I miss you most at night.