I'm sorting through old pictures, trying to organize them and put them into albums. I'll scrapbook some of them.

Lately I've been in 1986 and 1987. Paul was born in March of 1986 so I've been traveling down memory lane when he was a baby. Mostly I smile, sometimes I laugh, sometimes I ache. And sometimes I'm angry. Angry that I can't sit down with Paul and show him how he looked as a baby, and hear his laugh and see his face.

Yesterday one of Paul's friends came by with his wife and one year old son. Beautiful family and I've not seen this young man look happy -- until now. I'm glad he's found his place in the world as well as a wonderful woman.

In the midst of my joy for him, I can't help but feel cheated. Cheated that Paul didn't have the chance to straighten himself out, make a life, feel some happiness, have a future.

Today Analice started first grade. Paul wasn't here to share her joy, to give her advice, to drop her off at her classroom, to see her new Tinker Bell backpack.

It's not fair and I don't understand. I choose to trust that God knows best, but it hurts.