A year ago today, my son's father died. Diagnosed with cancer in November, we had less than two months to say goodbye. We had shared 17 married years together and the last four years as good friends, emailing everyday to say hello in the morning. Although he was 425 miles away, he was always the one person I could email or call when the world turned upside down and he would patiently listen to my worries. We were closer apart than we were together. And somehow I thought he would always be there...I would always wake up to that email and the world would be okay. I took all it for granted.
Eight weeks was not really long enough to say goodbye. We talked about our time together and told our old stories and laughed and appreciated the road we traveled together. But we really didn't even scratch the surface. And then he was gone. And suddenly you realize the memories you shared are alone in your heart and no matter how you try to explain them to others, even my son, it's not the same. The nuances cannot be explained.
For a year now, I have started sentences with "Do you remember?" and heard only a lonely echo. I miss you, my friend, and hope you are in a place filled with peace.