As we near 2 years since you were taken way too soon, I find myself thinking of all the Dee-isms that make me smile. Here are just a few:

- Your laugh - it was so special. I can still hear it in my head. And every time we got off the phone, you would do this little laugh and say bye. 

- Your “squishiness” - I mean, those “Double Ds” were always my soft place to fall. Your hugs were the very very best. You were never the first to let go and you smelled like fabric softener / baby powder / soap? Does “warmth” have a smell? If so, that’s the smell.

- Your presence - you always answered my call, day or night. You never made me feel dumb for wallowing in my first world problems. You were always all in - willing to wade through them with me until I could see through to the other side. When I had any pain, physical or emotional, I would sometimes point out that what I was going through was minor compared to the struggles of others in the world, including your own, and you would immediately call bullshit. “Pain is pain”, you would say, and comparison to the intensity of other people’s pain is pointless. “You are feeling it and that matters.” 

- Your hot mess of a car - your car rivaled mine with its mess, and that is a pretty big feat. We would talk about how we were just prepared for an emergency and that we could for sure feed and clothe our families from our cars for weeks if there was a zombie apocalypse.

- Your tears - with every milestone your girls had... first day of school (every.single.one), first dance recital, first strike out. The three of us (you,  Kimand I) would laugh and contrast our feelings around these events. Kim was on “Team Dee” in this area (and for the record is pretty much still in denial that her children are eventually going to move out one day - just sayin’). My reaction, on the other hand, to these same types of milestone was typically... “Crack open the wine... let’s celebrate... I get a few hours to myself ... peace out!”

- Your love of all things crafty and vintage. Your creativity was off the charts and the way you poured yourself into the scrapbooks for your family was amazing. Works of art. 

- Our laughs at Kim’s expense during her blonde moments! 

- Your disdain for having to cook dinner most nights for the family and not being able to just heat up frozen fish sticks or make your famous nachos (do chips, shredded cheddar and chopped tomatoes technically qualify as nachos?!) because your husband is a chef. 

- Your inability to swallow a pill without making a gagging noise.

- Your refusal to ever let your physical limitations define you. Top of mind for me was your determination to walk in the Women’s March indowntown Denver. Your legs were really killing you and you refused to let it get in the way of the experience with your girls. 

- Your pure joy - when you discovered a new gluten-free baked good that didn’t taste like saw-dust. I remember the day you discovered those tiny GF cinnamon muffins. Pure bliss! 

I think I could just write and write all day about all the things I loved about you my friend. I miss you.

Dee, Tammy, and I sat in the lobby of our daughters' ballet studio every week talking about EVERYTHING. I looked forward to these "therapy" sessions where we would laugh and laugh at ourselves, our children, life's craziness... one week we talked about how cool we thought our fashion sense was in the seventies and eighties and we lamented the school pictures that captured it too perfectly. The next week Dee brought in an elementary school photo of herself. She was standing at a split-rail fence post with a fake nature scene behind her. (The typical school photos from that time.) With her hands placed perfectly on the fence post, she mirrored the squirrel or chipmunk (or some other woodland creature) that was illustrated on her sweatshirt in the exact same position! It was priceless. We all laughed so hard, I'm sure the other parents in the studio thought we were insane. We could barely talk because the laughter took our breath away! I could laugh now about it again if I wasn't feeling so sick at the loss of Dee. It's four days later and it's still unbelievable. It is absolutey unbelievable. I keep hearing her giggle in response to some snarky comment I've made or a legitimately funny story we've shared. I want to keep hearing that forever.

The Kirby family drove all night to get to Vegas, where we shared several incredible dinners, pool time and the Strip.  These were incredible because of Dee and Tony and their sense of humor and wit.  I'll will forever miss our gatherings.  I will forever miss my friend.