A YEAR

 "Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. And then, one not-so-very special day, I went to my typewriter, sat down, and wrote your story. A story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people. But above all things, a story about love."

A year. A lot can happen in a year. I have been sitting here trying to reconcile with the fact that tomorrow marks a year ago that you left. A year. I am trying to find a way to communicate the feelings, the resounding grief that has remained, and the wealth of things I wish I could tell you while you sit in my living room laughing as the boys run around. 

I was talking to dad last night, we have been keenly aware of what is happening tomorrow and the anniversary that is coming. I asked him if he wanted to come down and do something with me, anything, just spend time. He honestly wants to let the day pass and carry on, but the focus of our conversation shifted to that of you being gone but no longer struggling. No longer struggling with the loss of bodily autonomy and control over your life, no longer fighting, no longer doing every treatment under the sun. Just no more of the hard stuff and in a way that makes it easier. Knowing that there is no suffering, however, the selfish part of me knows that to live is to suffer, we suffer all the indignities of time and of living; a host of sinew and bone. 

I miss hugging you, I miss your indignation when I have done something that you do not approve of, I miss your laugh and your smile and the way your eyes lit up at your grandchildren. I miss my mom, I miss my friend and I miss you. 

A family friend told me that you really grow up when you lose a parent and I would like to not be a grown-up anymore. I would like for you to be here but I know that I cannot change that any more than I can change the tides or that I can make the heavens part or the storms cease. 

Mom, I miss you. It doesn't seem quite enough to say that, but I miss you infinitely and love you more. 

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