One year ago today you were still on the planet and we had no idea what was just ahead for us. This has been a confusing few days - remembering, remembering, remembering. Remembering that you went to the eye doctor November 10, 2004 and found out that the surgeries had been succesful. Remembering that we came home and it was just a "normal" day - the last "normal" day we would ever have together.
I remember that when I came to pick you up at the house, you walked out looking so handsome. You were dressed in black jeans, your black sweater, a turtle neck and your leather jacket. I told you how handsome you looked and gave you a big kiss. We both had colds and big smiles.
It is hard to believe that I have lived almost a year without you. It is hard to believe that you are gone - no hand holding, no kisses, no laughter.
Here I am in my little boat - tossed on the turbulent ocean of grief and loss. Sometimes I paddle, sometimes I float, and sometimes I just hold on to the sides with my heart throbbing and tears running down my face.
The recurring theme this year has been one of gratitude - the undercurrent of it all - gratitude that I had you in my life.