That I should take a single additional breath, linger here a moment longer, is a possibility I entertain only in the darkest night when my deepest fears rise close to the surface and knock on the door of consciousness.
Is there an age when the missing is overwhelming, when there are shadows of things and people we loved everywhere and we are haunted by the specter of memory? When you have gone, will I remember your easy laugh and the comfort of your voice? Will I grow strong enough to weather the onslaught of waves or the strength of my pain without your gentle fortitude and knowing encouragement?
There are vast distances between us now, but if I close my eyes and picture you, I can feel the ribbon that binds us. It is born of laughter, story, and the courage we share in choosing love.
It is a gift to love you. And the price I will pay for the loss of us will be gut-wrenching grief. Where will I find you? In dresses with small, floral patterns? In raucous laughter in inappropriate places? When the wind spurs the fall leaves to dance recklessly through the evening sky? Will you be there when I watch waves break on the shore, reminding me that they, too, must return?
Will I find you here, between stuttering words and fragmented feelings? Will I feel your hand guiding my heart, reminding me to look for beauty, to search for truth in pain? When I fall, will it be the echo of your voice encouraging me to rise, reminding me that resilience, too, is a gift?
It is all so fragile. We are all so fragile.
And yet, in a hundred more lifetimes, I would find you, knowing that grief is a worthy price for the infinite grace of loving you.
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