Two Years On and I Still Miss You
It’s been two years since you took your last breath.
I still remember the moment when I learned that your body had finally given up the fight. I was heart-broken. And yet so relieved that you were now at peace. I prayed that you were now free of pain, free of worry.
I still remember the last time that I held your hand. I stared at your hand in mine, never wanting to let go. I thought about what you had achieved with those very hands. I wondered why no-one had trimmed your nails for you.
I still remember performing a reading at your funeral, my belly swollen with a new life inside kicking inside me, while I stared at the box that was so full of …. no life. I couldn’t imagine you in there. I couldn’t imagine talking without falling apart. And then suddenly I felt you beside me, as though you put a hand on my shoulder to tell me “You can do this.” And I did. You gave me strength when I needed it most.
I still remember watching your ashes scatter to the ground weeks later. I cried silent tears that fell gently onto my new daughter’s head. I felt the irony as I clutched my baby to my chest. I still remember wishing more than anything that you had met my Lucinda. We gave her the middle name of Gabrielle because I believed that you were now her Angel, always looking down upon her, keeping her safe.
I still remember some of our last phone conversations. I still remember how much you loved being a part of something bigger than just yourself. You always made me smile when you showed such concern for your doctors and nurses and caregivers – you worried about them and wished for their lives to be better, never once considering that they were dedicated to preserving yours.
I still remember when you would say Grace at our table every Christmas. You taught me how to be grateful. I will never forget that.
I still remember our discussions over family lunches which covered topics of religion, politics, education, philosophy and psychology amongst others. You were more than just intelligent, you were wise beyond measure. A rare distinction from anyone I have ever known.
I still remember the difference you made to the lives of those who were less fortunate than you. Sometimes I didn’t understand why you did what you did. Now I do. I wish I had told you that. I wish I could tell you that.
I still remember the gifts you gave me and the ways you have changed my life.
I still remember you. I still love you. I still miss you.