So it turns out to be true: Time will move us forward. Three-hundred and sixty-five days ago I was sure in my thinking that I’d be right here. That was correct. Who would be with me was incorrect. It’s been three-hundred and sixty-six days since the moment Mom passed away.
How odd it stills seems.
Rather than let the anniversary be a day of utter, uncomfortable sadness, my family, my gays, my straights and my B headed to Brooklyn. We drank, drank, drank and drank. Brunch, bar, bus. The order of the day’s events leading to the moment I requested.
In a park settled beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, white falling all around, the chill of the air bitter and cutting, this is where I wanted to come and say goodbye once more. This we did, but even in the moment when it’s easy to slip into the sad, it still turned out to be something rather happy. Surrounded by an amazing group of people, who had travelled across state and borough lines to lend their support; They were/are appreciated.
There is no changing the past and I’ll admit some of the sad has crept in today as I’m alone for the first time in five days. But the present is too good to not be a part of…and so we carry on.