Hey Harley Man,
Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of your death… September 11th – you and and whomever else checked into the Afterlife on that date; an infamous date. You did it like you would… coming in on that Christmas birthday and going out on a day where it would never be just about you. You know, I’m not very big on Anniversaries. I won’t miss you tomorrow any more than I missed you today or last week. I suspect I won’t miss you less on Wednesday or next week.
I’ve had thoughts beginning with something along the lines of “I can’t believe it’s been a year since…” pretty much from the time you left. I couldn’t believe a year before you died we were riding bikes in Cape Cod. I couldn’t believe it had been a year since your last birthday as we sang to you on Christmas evening. As I sat by the fire – alone – on a cold January morning I was recalling the year before when we talked about how to spend our snow day. When Spring came I remember thinking “this time last year you were in so much pain” and as summer grew hot I remembered how long you had been in the hospital and then last month I was recalling your steady decline and this week… your time at the Hospice unit.
Harley, I won’t be thinking of you any more or less tomorrow or the next day as I’ve thought of you each day that you’ve been absent from our home. You are still a part of our stories – the ones we tell with joy and laughter when I’m with the girls or with friends. You’re part of the story I tell clients when I am talking about how to learn from your partner and when I’m teaching about acceptance. You’re part of the story I tell people who say they’ll never recover from grief as I share how I’ve incorporated your departure into my daily existence.
At the risk of sounding crazy… I can feel you holding my hand at times. I hear your voice in my head at the most necessary moments. I can sense your warmth against my back when I am most lonely at night. And, I can see you in my dreams, reminding me how present you still are no matter where I go. Tomorrow may be designated as the day marking a year since your last breath, but I know you are still here – or there – on another plane, in a different reality.
I am doing what you asked… I am living a life full of the dreams we shared. I am not stopping to let grief hold me but instead, allowing it to move with me and I know that it is waning. It is less painful these days when I come home to a dark house; as I get acclimated to your transformed spirit. I know you don’t need lamplight or doorknobs now. My tears today are more often a result of the gratitude I feel for the comfort, wisdom, and guidance that you provided over those ten years than they are for the absence of your physicality. Those elements have been woven into the energy that I feel every time I walk into the house or bring you to mind.
I have to assume you are able to be a part of the ‘knowing’ now – exactly in the way you wished and consequently can see how very loved you have been… they – all those that love you – have honored you with kindness in the world, in so many different ways. I want to believe that you see it… and that your soul can absorb the love exerted from this vibration. You are as alive in our hearts now as you were when you were walking and talking with us and yet… we miss the walking and talking.
Tomorrow may be the day that marks a year but today… and each day… rolls around without your breath against my neck or your kiss on my temple yet they are days where the memory of you lights my path. It moves me; guides me; inspires me; and motivates me to be better.
You… are missed and remembered EVERY day – regardless of clocks or calendars yet you are with me; with us. Stay if you can… go if you must – it won’t matter because a part of you is always available here… the vibration of your existence lives here and I feel you.
Loving you still.
With love, gratitude, and honor…