A little more frequency Kenneth?

It's wild when suddenly, out of the blue, you are stopped in your tracks by the intense and unmistakeable ache of missing someone.

It's not exactly something that gets talked about either. It should, but it seems like our culture does not condone public mourning. Other cultures shriek and moan and tear out their hair and wear black for months to commemorate the passing of a person you love. Here, you cry, you have a funeral, and life is supposed to just go on. People are just left lonely in their own mournful bubble.

My grandfather has been gone for almost a year now. Really, almost eleven months, and it feels like I just saw him yesterday. It hasn't hit me that he doesn't exist anymore. April 7, 2010 was the last day he took a breath on this Earth and now he is no longer.

Sometimes I still expect to see him in all of the places that I used to see him. I expect to drive by his sawmill and see him out there sawing out a load of bird's eye maple for someone, or a load of white oak flooring. Then, I drive by and remember that the sawmill is gone and that he wouldn't be able to use it, even if it were still there.

I was struck by a memory today as I was driving on old Route 25, which I am sure has some other name now. I remembered thinking I was so grown up one day, shortly after I got my license because I picked up a Cookies'N'Creme Crunch Bar and a Sprite and I took them to him. He had a sweet tooth like no other and he was so surprised and happy to see me when I pulled up and got out of the car. It was a simple memory of something that happened twelve or so years ago, but it hit me like a hurricane.

Apologies

“So sorry for your loss.”

A phrase that echoes from innumerable mouths

and I just wish I could reply…

“He is not ‘lost’,” I want to say,

though we do not know

exactly

where he is.

He is gone.

Never again to walk along garden rows

finding four leaf clovers and mayflowers.

Never again to savor a chocolate

at Christmastime.

Never again to wash dirty hands

with Lava soap

or hold my hand in his.

His hat hangs on the chair –

unworn

as I ache for another glimpse of him

in my dreams.

Oh geez....

So, maybe this is going to become a once a month kind of thing... I do have a lot to say, I swear. I guess there's just not enough time to say it in.

January flew by. Life is good. My taxes are done. My least favorite month of the year has arrived, but I'm working hard on changing my view. Just because I crossed out the "February" on my calendar and wrote in "F*&%uary" doesn't mean I'm not trying... right?

It's a tough month. Lots of anniversaries of things that don't bring about happy memories. February has been a month of loss for me historically and as they say, history repeats itself. At least I suppose it has a tendency to though there's no guarantee.

I'm thinking maybe that's what I need to focus on. "Life is Not a Guarantee". It's a great song by a great bluegrass band, Kickin' Grass. We saw them at the Pemi-Valley Bluegrass Festival last year and fell instantly in love. That song is definitely my favorite. It spoke to both of us pretty intensely. It's certainly worth a listen.

This February (knock on wood) has started out well. I've spent time with people I love, doing things that I love. Got a beautiful new tattoo yesterday from my very best friend Jess, after a big, fantastic breakfast of the most delicious pancakes ever, made by her significant other and another one of my very best friends, Albert.

Not much to complain about in my world and I intend to keep it that way!