The world's darkening slide toward the Winter Solstice perfectly matches the earthscape of my heart.
The slide into this particular dark day, this anniversary of the day my world quietly broke apart in unison with my heart, occupies the whole first part of December no matter how hard I try to remain focused on the joy and excitement of the children, the quiet anticipation of Advent, the lovely decorations, the gift of the Christ Child.
Because it's been seven years.
Seven years. Today. This morning. Another sad anniversary.
How can you be gone for seven years?
Sometimes it feels like you have been gone decades, other times, five minutes.
Know this, my love, however long it's been, you have been missed for every damn second of it. Your smile, your laughter, your kindnesses, your messiness- yes, I even miss your messiness.
I miss our conversations that could range over subjects from history to philosophy to theology to puns to space travel to comic strips to politics to...well, you name it. We talked about everything, argued about some things, and managed to keep up with one another when we changed the subject without signaling.
We were always pausing television shows to discuss whether they got the history right. We would pause them to look at the artwork in the background of scenes or to look carefully and lustfully at all the incredible gardens in our British murder mysteries and yearn for English cool rainy weather.
Oh, babe. It was never boring with you. I miss your mind. I miss your humor. I miss your touch. I miss being held by my very tall person.
I miss you. I love you. I always will.
