Five years.
In the last five years, so many major life events have taken place. I honestly cannot say that I felt you there the vast majority of the time, but I did on December 9th. When they laid him on my chest, when I kissed him and held him for the first time. When he looked at me with such an old soul in his sweet and wondrous eyes, I saw you. A strange and unknown sense of peace entered my life on that day. At the same time, more anxiety than I have ever known accompanied it. As always, the yin and yang of life, one comes with the other.
Five years.
Molly, James, and Henry have grown so much. They all have learned to ski and are quite good at it. Mom is as busy as ever, always on the move, traveling, working, and adventuring. All of us kids are in full swing with work and kids and life. But there is still a hole where you belong. There is still an empty seat at the table where our hearts ache for your mischief.
Five years.
He has your eyes, dark and intense as well as humorous and twinkling. He has your sweet nature mixed with a healthy dose of skepticism and consideration. He is physical and thoughtful. He loves the wind and the sun and the calling of the outdoors. He loves watching the world go by at Harbour River and enjoys a good glass of the house white. He woos everyone he meets, but can quickly tire of their presence. He is a gift. From you. Thank you.
Five years.
I miss you. I miss your laugh and your antics. I miss your wisdom and your thoughtfulness. I miss your story telling and your antagonistic ways. We finally laid you to rest this year. A saying goodbye in a way. A letting go. An embracing of what is true - you no longer walk beside us in this space. As they worked on your gravesite - placing an enormous slab of slate that marked the place for us to visit - a small brown bird stayed and watched all day. I have no doubt it was you, thankful to see it come to another kind of end and beginning.
Five years.
A thousand gifts.
The greatest one being a little piece of you.
