Vigil

These days of March are so very hard, little sweetheart. These days that mark the anniversary of your accident, your tragic passing and the ten days in between when we held our breath and a vigil around your room and bed praying for your recovery, your return.

These days, so calendar-close to the Christian ones of Lent and Easter, have, however mournful and shatteringly sad, an almost holy aura themselves. I go to Taize to light a candle and say our prayer and speak to you in the silence. I lay in bed in the morning a few minutes longer to speak to you as the sun fills the room. I wake to stir my memory of any visitation of your blessed presence in my dreams. I hurt, my little sweetheart and ache with such longing for you but I remember.

As I mark these days, these terribly sad days, I try my best to do as you would have and want me to. And I am buoyed by faith and the boundless, incandescent love you shared and blessed me with. I feel it still, this incredible, indescribable gift, this shining gift of you.

I’ll find my way to you somehow. I must, so I will.

With all my love forever.