Year two begins. I awake with tears in my eyes. You still aren’t at my side. Of course, I’ve learned over the year to sleep across the bed so there isn’t a lot of room left. It’s surprising how someone five foot one can take up a lot of space with a few pillows strategically placed and a body that doesn’t conform to head and foot edges of the bed.
I spent yesterday being occupied at one thing and another and waited for the year to end watching the Chanukah candles melt down on our Chanukiah. They burned perfectly evenly this night except the Shamash, the helper, that burned quickly down to match the height of the other four and then finished burning with them. Are you still sending messages or am I looking too hard; wanting too much for you to still be here, to wake up and find out this has been a dream, a mistake?
I’m fine. I’m fine. And then, I’m not. And then, I am again. One foot in front of the other: in house shoes, boots, tennis shoes or barefoot. One foot in front of the other, life goes on.
I hope the soul goes on and you know how much you are missed and loved every day. Your memory, the memory of you, my dear Jeff, is a blessing.
I spent yesterday being occupied at one thing and another and waited for the year to end watching the Chanukah candles melt down on our Chanukiah. They burned perfectly evenly this night except the Shamash, the helper, that burned quickly down to match the height of the other four and then finished burning with them. Are you still sending messages or am I looking too hard; wanting too much for you to still be here, to wake up and find out this has been a dream, a mistake?
I’m fine. I’m fine. And then, I’m not. And then, I am again. One foot in front of the other: in house shoes, boots, tennis shoes or barefoot. One foot in front of the other, life goes on.
I hope the soul goes on and you know how much you are missed and loved every day. Your memory, the memory of you, my dear Jeff, is a blessing.
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