I’m scared sometimes when I realize you’re slipping from me.
Your goofy chuckle, your unique expressions, and the weird tone of voice you use when you’re frustrated and trying not to show it are vibrant and loud. They’re stuck with me forever.
In the quieter moments, I have to admit that I don’t remember if the hazel ring in your eyes that I inherited was on the inside or outside of the green core. I don’t remember if you drank water with dinner, or only before and after. I’m not sure if I remember your shoe size.
The holes in hearts have a strange place in the world, I think. There is this everlasting collage of pieces that will always be missing. More than anything, I am fascinated by the space they free to love more. I don’t believe that love is finite, that we only have the capacity for so much. But I do believe that the truth of love and loss is that they both crack us wide open, and maybe those cracks are our personalized invitation, meant only for us and our unique but wildly universal pain.
Maybe losing you helped me in some part to find me.
Me in the biggest, purest form – loving sunrises and books, belly laughs and hard work, showing up for myself and my people as this biggest, purest me.
I wonder if just maybe the openness and courage of loss prepares us for the openness and courage that will be required of us later.
..because it will be required of us later.