We miss you Moo

Every year, for the past, who knows how many years, the town we live in, holds a community event. Its more commonly referred to as “The blueberry festival” where locals get together, and sell whatever they can, however they can. Its sort of like the 4th of July, only its catered more towards “Arts” and everyone knows this town has so much “Art”. The only problem is, everyone thinks their “Art” is a master piece. I think it just depends on how you look at it, your perspective.

Last year, I took the kids downtown. Like the fool I am I decided to take them school shopping on the busiest day of the year at the busiest place in the world, or atleast, town.

They participated in the “Slug race” where a whole slew of slugs are lined up, yelled at, and eventually, when one makes its way away from the screaming crowds, and into the center, they are pronounced the winner. There was the pie eating contest. The one where Dylan ALMOST won, but was overlooked, and another kid was given the prize. We walked around, ate way too much, rode the over crowed bus, and mingled with people I hope to never see again….and we looked at art. Oh, the art.

I think I emphasized that point last year as well.

My point is, this year. The date for the art festival falls on August 1st. The first Saturday of August, respectively.

moo

 

Its ironic, really. Much of this is.

Ironic that a few weeks ago I was writing the post titled “One year” and now I could be writing one titled “Two years”. Ironic that a few weeks ago, we hit the one year marker for getting the kids back, and now we hit the two year marker for loosing Molly. Ironic that this year the Blueberry festival falls on August first. Ironic that the blueberry festival is known for its artwork. Ironic that Molly loved to draw, that she would have most likely been an artist one day, if she wasn’t already at four years old. Ironic that Im writing this, thinking about her, and wondering if in the two short years that shes been gone, does no one remember her?  But its mostly ironic that she was just here, and now…she isnt.

…and as much as I hate to say it, I havent thought of her or remembered her as much as I should. Mainly because I need to keep focused on this. On the now. On the future. I don’t want to risk going back, or slipping back…

I don’t know whats harder to realize. The fact that I don’t think of her as much as I should. The fact that because of that, no one remembers her. Or the simple fact that its been two years, since shes been gone…perhaps, a combination of all three. They do go together, in a way.

Madison says we should sell her art, she thinks that we should write about her, and who she was…put it together with her art, and sell it…to do something special for her. She says her art would be the best down there. But we wont. Not this year atleast. This year, we will remember her, in our own ways as we walk along the hot pavement, blueberry filling on our faces, clutching slugs in our hands…we will remember her, and miss her…today more than ever.

M 010

M 008

 

Call it prejudice, call it perspective…we called it art. 

moo 

“When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are.”

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