Each day I carry the pain of losing you, but two dates on the calendar deliver a special sting. The day we lost you, and today.
You would have turned 27. Another year has passed and you are not here.
I want to rail at the unfairness.
I feel angry and honestly ripped off.
This year the peak of the foliage of the fall season is happening squarely during the week of your birthday.
Your dad takes stunning pictures of the trees in all of their glory. You know he has the eye. But the images offer only a glimpse. And try as I might to explain the beauty of this time of year, my descriptive phrases fall short.
We can no more capture the splendor of the fall season than we can articulate the essence that was you. But I see you in so many of the facets of the riotous display.
You were so vivid, much like the swirling reds, golds, and browns of the leaves just before the fragile stems let go into the wind.
Your soul was quietly illuminating like a lantern, gently lighting the way on a dusky October evening.
Your smile was like the light breaking through the darkness in the woods at the Hollow in the morning.
And life without you is like the trees without their leaves —much more barren.
I find myself feeling sorrow for those who will never know you.
But for those of us who did, even your death does not dim your glow.