grief, a year in

you’ve been gone a year, and yet I sense you acutely. in my dreams, in the room. in the moments my brain lapses and I forget you aren’t wandering around beverly hills drinking an iced coffee with a staggering mound of splenda in it. grief is an odd beast with its ebb and flow, its unexpected visits. we know it isn’t linear but it feels no less jarring to be swept up in its swift onset. somehow I find myself grateful for it too. if I can reach past the pain, I feel something else– a cleansing, a catharsis, the sense that you’re closer than our earthbound bodies can comprehend. sometimes I still play out the conversation I needed to have with you until I remember it isn’t possible. only maybe it is – maybe I’ve been having it with you for the last year. maybe this is the way it was meant to happen. maybe I’m mad and it’s an act of self preservation. if it’s a path to healing, does it matter?⁣
⁣
why do those we’ve loved and lost appear when they do? it’s a mystery I’m content to have remain unanswered. I miss you, larry. thanks for staying close.