It's as if you've always been here,
or at least were always meant to be.
Yet sometimes I still look your way
and can't believe it's you I see.
I still remember grieving
as if I'd experienced your death.
Now that you're actually here,
It's like you've risen from the dead.
Your room became my meeting room
where God drew me close each day.
Your carpet still holds those tears,
your walls hold all the words I prayed.....
I'll save the rest of the poem for the book, whenever I find time to settle down enough to finish it.