I think that's right. I've always said I didn't want to remember the day or year (or any of it, truth be told) because that part is insignificant and doesn't really matter. I still feel that way. Yet when the time comes back around each year, I am jolted by a sudden realization of what this time of year signifies. When I go to gather the eggs in the afternoon, the smell of the January air stirs something melancholy in me. The particular color of the evening light makes me feel anxious and tangled. There is a strange feeling of having my emotions all jumbled up, but also feeling nothing and everything at the same time. On edge. Untethered.
And then I remember and it makes sense.
I suppose there will always be a suffocating weight that threatens to overtake my mind sometimes. When something "good" happens with the kids, I am sad you aren't here to see it and tell them how happy you are for them. When something "bad" happens, I vacillate between resentment that I alone am here to slog through it or another dose of that blasted sadness. Sometimes a Mom and her words just aren't enough to help. Sometimes a Dad's words of encouragement or admonishment are necessary too. So yes, I think for the remainder of my life I will always be aware of my solitary position here. Can't say it feels very good.
I've always told the kids that everyone in this world has some sort of adversity they must face sooner or later. Of course there's different levels of this adversity but in the end no one gets out of here unscathed or untouched by pain and trauma. I've told them that your death is just one part (albeit a pretty big one!) of their stories. They cannot allow that singular experience to be the definition of their lives. Yes, it can be an influence for sure, but do not let it make you (too) cynical or discouraged. We all must continue on, as proof of our own strength but also as a testament of honoring what you would expect.
I love my life. Everything that I've ever wanted or ideas that I've wanted to create are my reality now. I think the most important lesson that I, personally, have extricated from this process is gratitude. Plain and simple thankfulness. I am always grateful for the good, the bad, the mundane, the exciting, the boring...for every bit of life, I am grateful. For the lessons I've learned, for the people I've welcomed into my life, for the people I've removed. Grateful. For what I've been given, what I've earned, what has been removed. Grateful.
I think that realization and recognition are the best ways of remembering and honoring you. Sure, there will always be sadness and grief lurking about in the darkest corners of my life. But gratitude is like the candle that illuminates those dark places and banishes the shadows.
I like candlelight.
