20 years with.
10 years without.
10 years. A whole decade. One third of my life. Speaking numerically it sounds like a lot. It feels like a milestone. But it also still feels like yesterday.
In all that time the aching all-encompassing sometimes immobilizing heart wrenching hole that’s in the heart but affects the whole body, mind and soul has not lessened, but lingers around corners, behind experiences wished were shared or discussed, in photos and memorabilia, and sometimes in nothing at all but ambush unexpectedly.
You were so charismatic, so inspiring, so passionate, caring, combative, fiery, frustrating, fatherly, flirty, fun, fantastic, unique, amazing, loving. You were so very you.
Instead of thinking, “I wish you were here”, it’s time for a shift towards believing in some way your are. I will never love or miss you a single iota less, but now need to do so in a different way. It’s time to try to pack away and release the guilt and regret of what wasn’t done and the depressing disappointment of what never will come.
Though watching Father of the Bride or any Kurosawa, or getting the once Saturday tradition of a back bacon sandwich from the St Lawrence Market, and every time this date rolls by, floodgates of tears will still open, but their salt will sting slightly less. Instead of chocking on them, they will be happy reminders full of fondness and reminiscence of cherished times spent together.
You were loved, you are loved, you will always be loved… and missed.
Thinking of you wherever, whatever, whoever you are.