Strong Memories

So much depends upon a day, a week, a month. So much more depends upon a year. Today is the anniversary of Kate's death. I don't miss her more today than I do any other day. I don't feel any more heartbroken. The only difference is that I wonder what she was doing last year right now. RIGHT NOW. I have questions that will never have answers. That kind of permanence is unsettling.

I said yesterday that I am thankful for time. Time offers perspective. When in the thick of something it is very hard to remember that it is temporary; it cannot last forever. Time will quickly usher in new joys, new hurdles, new turmoils and smiles. If I could talk to Kate once more, just once more, I would tell her that loneliness, despair, and hopelessness are okay. And that they are capable of crumbling. I would have reminded her that it was not only my hand that would have reached out to grasp hers. There would have been an unending pile of support that would have caught her...if we only knew. I would have told her that in hindsight any tragedy that she had encountered could not have equaled what has been left in the wake of her passing. Yet, I write that last line with trepidation because Kate existed on a plane that I always wanted to be on. She was a true prodigy, I cannot begin to imagine the scope of her mind. I would have said what was expected: that I loved her and missed her, and that yes, I am still pretty pissed at her. But then being human, I would have shared the details of my life. I miss the way she looked at things. I would have loved to hear the happiness in her voice when I spoke of my life right now. She would have been so proud. Seeing as she was with me at my worst, I feel like it would only be fair for her to see me at my best. I would have told Kate that I am seeing someone. She would have loved the fact that he draws an iron over tasks that need to be "ironed out". It's the little things that I miss telling her. A friendship is based on reciprocity. I miss listening to her and I miss being listened to by her.

Thanksgiving is tomorrow and this holiday will never again carry the innocent thankfulness that it once did for me. I will be forced to offer thanks for something that Kate, herself, robbed from me. I will also not be able to escape the lingering truth that even the great fall; never to get up again. Today I will be gentle with myself, and tomorrow I will cherish thoughts of a dear friend who passed much too soon. Next year I will have only gained more clarity and perspective, something I wish Kate would have allowed herself to do. But right now, right this second, I am remembering her giggle and smile and the way she whirled the word "fantastic" off her tongue in the most excellent Welsh accent. And I am thankful that those are strong memories; after all I am going to need them to accompany me on my own journey.