a year ... and counting

Not a day goes by. Not one. The thoughts aren't all sad. I mean, don't get me wrong. Lots of them are. I miss you so much it hurts, sometimes physically. And the tears come pretty easily. No surprise there. But I can usually chuckle my way through them. All my memories of you are happy, even the horror stories of the "early years." And just look at that face! So handsome and happy and sweet. That sweet face saved my life in more ways than one. I wish I could have saved yours. That last year it was as if you willed yourself to stay with me until I got my shit together. Holding out to take care of me while your poor little body was giving out on you. Somehow you knew I needed you, and you knew when I was ready, when I was finally strong enough, to let you go. I think you'd been ready to go for a while. I hope I wasn't too selfish for too long.

But I sleep easy knowing I made it better for you, knowing you trusted me, even with your last breath. I hope I gave back enough. I hope the Porterhouse and the popcorn filled your belly and lasted as a final treasured memory. I hope you know that I held your body and let go of your soul with all the love in my heart, and that you heard everything I told you as you left. And I hope I can become the person I was in your eyes all those years.