Still and Always Burning

Little sweetheart, I woke up late this morning but I rolled out of bed and got dressed, still blurry-eyed and seriously under-caffeinated, to catch a 1 train up to 79th St and make it in time for services at that nice little church I've told you about. I usually like to take the long walk up there but I was late, like I said. It's important, I think, to have that mindful hour each week and pray for you. Everything and anything that keeps me mindful and helps me feel closer to you is important, little sweetheart - writing, music, mediation, prayer, quiet mindfulness - all of it. I have a couple of prayers I say for you every day, usually several times through the day, and I always bring them to services with me, too, of course. Often, there's a place in the service where either prayers are read aloud or one's name whom we pray for might be spoken reverently. You are always in and of mine, sweetheart. Always. Today, a very sweet man who's been quite kind to me - you'd like him, little sweetheart, he has such a kind face, is such a loving, gentle soul - was having a birthday. They announced it during services. He's 72. He doesn't look a day over early 50's. His name is Ken. After the service, before I could even get a chance to wish him happy birthday, he was there seeking me out. And he said to me how sorry he was for your passing and how deeply you must still and always burn in my heart. Those thoughtful words brought fresh tears and gasping breath to me, little sweetheart. Tears of goodness - both for this man's kindness and for the constant reminder of your beautiful spirit. Before I left, I said your prayer again, quietly, gratefully. Until that day when you may collect me and keep me at your side for ever and ever. How I pray it may be soon, my little sweetheart. Until that day! Until that day...