Sunday we gathered, his friends and loved ones, to remember the life and mark the day he was still among us. While I am grateful for the event, the gaping hole was obvious, the glue that held us was gone. It felt as if our chief storyteller was waiting on US to fill his shoes—and the truth is—no one can.
People often say we should celebrate (or laugh, or eat, or live) because that is what the departed would have wanted. But honestly, I don’t know what he would have wanted—for me, for all of us. I don’t know if it is what we look like now. I imagine he is a little like Jesus at the side of the boat, laughing, saying “oh ye of little faith” watching us all try to walk on water like he always did. I need more time with the master.
We spread some of his ashes into the lake, just off the dock—one of his favorite places on earth—yesterday. Des spoke with him and spread the dust; I found myself clinging to each moment as it clicked by … birds singing their timeless song, me drinking in each Kodachrome frame.
I still feel lost without him. A year is like a moment. I don’t know yet how to feel or what to make of life unfolding without him, but I trust I am not the only one.