Today is the anniversary of my wife's death from cancer. It's been eight years now since her passing. It scares me because each year that passes, it gets harder for me to picture her when I close my eyes or remember the sound of her laughter. I still remember certain things, like how her freckles came out in the summer time on her face and how she hated it or how maternal she was with the children. She was an amazing mother. I wonder how it feels to be the kids and barely remember her or in Devon's case not really even knowing her. I wonder if it feels worse than this. But, over all I feel the loss of her still to this day. As the years pass I realize I have moved on, but I also know there is that part of me that is forever hers and will always be. I like that. I like knowing that if there isn't some amazing cosmos out there when we die and life after death is truly a dark black nothing, that we were written together in time. Knowing that in itself makes me feel better and knowing that also helps me as an individual to move forward and not be stuck in the past. It's a great place to visit, the past, but I wouldn't ever recommend it as a permanent stay for anyone. Last night I picked up my guitar and just though about her... about our time together in time and this is what I wrote; perhaps music is a better translator of thought and depth than words could ever portray:
