It’s weird when someone close to you dies. I don’t really know what it is I believe in, but I find myself looking up to the sky and thinking if only I could see far enough, there you would be. Or if only I could see close enough, to see all the little bits and pieces that make up the space between the air and sunshine, there you would be.
But then i’m looking at the grass, watering my plants, and I see a cricket, a lucky spark, a green in the green, and I think of you. I think maybe you aren’t in the sky. Maybe you are so much closer than that. Maybe you are every where, we just can’t see you so well anymore. But if we pay attention, your sparks are still there. Because if I can still hear your laugh in my head and remember exactly what it felt like to sit next to you on a picnic bench, with your sweatshirt on, your shoulders tall and friendly against mine— then are you really gone?
Those we love and lose live on within us forever. It's a truth.
I wonder how you are experiencing the world now. What marvelous winds are you traveling on. Maybe you are the wind itself. You can leave all the earthly details to us-- I'll fully take on the responsibility of loving orange cats, and the color purple, and potato salad. Someone else will have to take on your love for Earl Grey Tea. Enjoy your wings. Enjoy your fluidity. Enjoy the light.
You can warm the pebbles on the beach. I'll collect them in my pocket.
