What is life, living? How can I be alive, and you be dead? How can my heart beat and my breath fill my body, and your heart and body be ashes? One moment you were alive, the next you were gone. Dead, elsewhere, not here with us. Where are you? Do you see me, watch B as she grows? I don't very often feel you directly, but every once in a while your memory is so strong. Your big laugh, your big hands, your energy and warmth and heartbeat.
I remember how upset I was with the idea of your open heart surgery, how your beautiful chest would be forever marred by a big scar. But it healed so well, and became a part of you, neither good nor bad. Perhaps that is what your death is becoming in me. At first it was a huge, raging, gaping wound, my lifeblood pouring out as I grasped the truth and reality of you being gone forever. As time has passed and I have walked with the truth, the wound has begun to heal. There is a big, tender, red scar that mars my existence, but I can now see that with time and gentle acceptance, it will fade to become a part of me, neither good nor bad, just there.