Don't wanna write. Wanna do video or bike or have breakfast. Not because I can't do those other things but because what I write about are glimpses, sound effects. Memories of what was and what might have been. Not what might have been today but then. The effect of memory is mostly a tickle or a twinge, depending on the attachment to that event, person.
This week I heard a sound that was a few notes on a guitar. I finished up at an event and thought of calling to say I was on my way home. Expecting me.
There was no thought about year two, after year one. Year two started out with understanding that it is not past. The experience is current still, in a way that has changed but is physically real. How will I remember and carry on becomes, I remember and carry on. The space to hold love deepens in the sense the original marriage vow eludes to. The two shall be as one. In a new way.
Some stuff moves to the side. New things come and go, eventually some take a hold and grow. Life seems to present more flexibility. The rigidity of survival loosens it's grip a little.
What seemed urgent or unimportant become everyday, the tiniest bit of perspective comes into focus. Getting beyond the feeling of death moves desperation to desire. Trust begins to relegate anxiety to the back row.
I hear and feel and know this missing person to be me. It is a relief to feel my identity evolving. Rich is still a part of me. Of course. I am not him. The things Rich loved that can be kept alive are alive, me, our children and grandchildren, and are irreplaceable.
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| the first year is an insane mountain climb to glimpse a patch of blue and a tricolor columbine |
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