I met you for the first and last time eight years ago today. Eight years. Although we are more and more separated by time each year, part of me still exists there with you, on that day.
I often think of holding you in that hospital room. That room, on that day, where everything in the entire universe felt whole for one last time. It has never felt the same since.
Don't get me wrong - I wouldn't want to ever go back to a place where I don't feel your loss. There was a wonderful expression I heard this year: what is grief, if not love persevering?
It is a privilege to ever get to feel such love in life. Love that perseveres.
My universe was never going to feel whole forever. Eventually in life, grief becomes a certainty. I feel fortunate to not have had to figure that out too early. And I feel fortunate to not have had to figure that out too late to truly appreciate the value of the present moment.
Thank you for this enduring gift. I love you. We love you. Happy birthday.
