I’m sitting in the sunshine, feeling the familiar warmth on my skin, and remembering our days in Yuma. I distract myself from the spike of sorrow by wondering what to do with the rest of today. I have washed the truck and bought dog food – all good responsible Sandy activities. I also organized the truck inside – didn’t vacuum it but wtf, it’s some progress anyway. I don’t know what it is that is pushing me today – I feel restless? No. But I want to do something. Maybe I’ll go into Fergus tonight and watch the live music at the Brew House. Or maybe not.
I feel like I’m starting to emerge from under the tsunami of grief and sadness that has consumed me for days. I miss him. I miss having his hand to hold and his warm smile and his excellent advice. But if I listen to my inner voice he’s there. He’s still with me. And as much as that makes me sad and frustrated – I want to see him! – it is also becoming a comfort. There is a tribe (which tribe? I hear him prompt me – I don’t know Warren, I can’t remember…) that says that no one is really dead until the last day that their name is spoken.
Warren Allen McLeod.
I say his name each morning when I wake up and each night as I fall asleep. No forgetting on my watch. With that in mind, knowing that he’s still here in one way or another, I feel stronger. I am starting to pick up the the notes of my life, starting to compose the sound of the each day. Never more than a day ahead though – I know now that fretting about the future, trying to compose an aria to carry me through – is futile. We only have the notes for today. Cherish whatever melody that brings you.
Today I’m composing a solo: my melody is bright and warm with an undertone of melancholy. And that’s ok. It fits me right now.