Thinking of everyone who has lost a Valentine, a long term spouse or partner (and I have several family friends who have, this very year, said goodbye to the loves of their lives, partners for half a century and more). I’m reposting this–from a year ago–dedicating it to my mother, who misses Dad in her way as I do in mine. With love.
When you lose someone you love, the loss becomes part of you. As time passes the loss changes shape, weight, texture, but you carry it everywhere. It’s experience that changes you, wisdom to share in measured doses, depending on how willing another is to receive.
My father died of cancer seventeen years ago today: February 13th, 1995, the day before Valentine’s Day. We sat shiva for just three days before we felt him urging us to get back out into the world and live—on his behalf, on our own. I remember walking outside on February 17th and thinking what a lonely place it was without Mel Williamson. Lonelier still for those who’d never known him. And then something happened—I don’t remember what—I saw some interaction between strangers on the street: something Dad would have made a comment about or laughed at, and I remember smiling. A private…
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