I posted this three years ago on Facebook.
Over the weekend, I was up before dawn so I was able to watch the sun rise slowly over the horizon, setting the snow sparkling like a million diamonds as the night stars faded from sight.
As I watched, I wondered if Lissa would be able to see another sunrise. I hoped with all my heart she would be able to leave the hospital and see hundreds of sunrises and millions of stars. But it didn't happen that way, and it's another thing among many that breaks my heart.
My only silver lining is that now, she's part of the stars and she's part of every sunrise. And she shines more brightly than ever before.
I was determined to honor her today on this anniversary of her journey into the Beyond. I didn't want to sit home, folded in upon myself while shedding tears. I still mourn her death but she deserves to be celebrated too.
When we lived in Texas, we would head for Barnes & Noble on Sunday mornings when all of the Baptists were in church, planning to browse the shelves before retiring to the cafe to drink hot beverages (mine was cocoa, hers was usually mocha), munch on some confectionary, and talk or write.
None of the bookstores near me contain a cafe component so instead I went to the local library, perusing the stacks for hidden gems, picking up a book that was holding for me.
My walk from the library to the grocery store was sprinkled with the smell of fresh-cut grass (yes, they're already mowing in Ireland) and daffodils. Lissa loved daffodils with their happy little faces.
I breathed in the fresh air, noticing clumps of tiny daisies, a large golden retriever playing with his owner in a nearby sports field, airplanes streaking by overhead. Drinking it all in on her behalf because she could no longer engage with the world like this.
I bought a sweet treat at the store and left to head for home. There's a coffee shop right next to the grocery store, and two older women sat at one of the small tables near a window, enjoying coffee and conversation. Something twisted inside me, the regret that Lissa and I never got to grow old together.
At the half-way mark of the path leading from the tram to our house, the trees part and offer a clear view to the Irish Sea. I stood and gazed at it for a while, remembering our trip to Galveston and to Florida when we spent time by the water.
Lissa and I met through the magic of letters so I thought today would be a good day to catch up on correspondence. I put on a Corey Hart CD (he was one of Lissa's favorite artists), singing along to some songs as I wrote, tears streaking softly down my face when the first strains of "Never Surrender" began to play.
Later, I plan to have some hot cocoa and one of those sweet treats I bought, doing my best to recreate those wonderful mornings spent at Barnes & Noble. I have her physical letters but we'll see if I'm strong enough to handle reading through them today.
Mentioning Corey Hart reminds me of a funny story. When The X-Files first hit the airwaves, Lissa and I would sometimes catch an episode. Every time David Duchovny first appeared on-screen, Lissa would invariably ask "Is that Corey Hart?" since the two men bore a striking resemblance to each other, especially at first glance. It's become an in-joke for my husband and me - if we happen to see Duchovny, one of us will ask "Is that Corey Hart?"
I miss you, bestest. Thank you for being a part of my life.
My beautiful friend, in happier times
