Today would have been 87. I remember the 85 celebration and the way you sassed me for taking pictures, sticking out your tongue at me. The way your eyebrows gave away your dementia, but still, your tongue remembers your cheekiness with the people dearest to your heart.
The ring you designed only fits on my tiniest finger; I’m wearing it today as I remember and honor the life that was yours. It brings back the feeling of holding your crinkled, warm hand as the next world was calling you home. I always thought I’d die the moment you left the planet.
& somehow, I’m still here. My heart kept beating even though it didn’t know how without yours. I suppose that’s because your body left, but your spirit stayed. I feel you in my spine; the same way I did with you at my back as I faced the fire of truth telling.
You're in the upturned corners of my mouth, the parts of me that tend to myself when I can get out of my own way. You’re in the water I swim in, the water that holds me as I grieve you & the world. Then you always transmute and my belly finds laughter in the icy swell.
My mind tells me you’ve gone, but my body knows better. You live on and through me, through us, all of us you nurtured & loved & fed. Even now, the symbol of the center of your world rests on my pinkie, & the comfort of you having made a quarter of me settles.
I left a plate out for you last night; clementines, scottish fudge, and almond roca. I hope they found you in abundance & peace, with treats that remind me of your bright, sweet spirit. I remember writing “When I grow old with you…” notes in third grade.
As I grow older without you, my heart aches & I cherish it; the reminder that you lived, that you loved me wholly, even when I chose paths that our family didn’t understand. There were never conditions, and I love you forever. I carry you in the back of my heart, the place that most never reach.
