It’s been 166 days, 22 hours, 32 minutes and 16 seconds since you left.
The clock ticks on as I write, rendering the time estimate incorrect seconds after I type it.
Confession seems warranted since I sometimes cannot remember if I’ve showered— and apparently I made a tribute tile for you but I cannot remember doing so.
I need to confess to you that the days keep moving forward. Time keeps marching on and still I don’t know where it goes since each day ends too soon and blends into the next.
Indy, the dog you’ve never met, gets bigger each day causing me to adjust her collar every week to allow space for her neck to grow even more. I confess to an ache that I feel when I remember that you are not here to enjoy her antics, her big personality, her adorableness.
I must confess that being responsible for everything in this life we shared is overwhelming and I cannot always keep up with everything. I fail. I fail again.
I confess to moments when my heart aches and my eyes leak teardrops when life reminds me that you are gone.
I hope to remember that in addition to time as we know it there is the Timeless which blankets all.
I am hoping that the fog lifts, eventually, and the daily remembering of tasks improves.
I live in hope that you are seeing us (even Indy) in ways I cannot know or understand.
It is my hope that I may be granted grace to manage life with courage and generosity.
I hope my eyes and my heart remain in tune so that I never forget.
I miss you.
I love you.
I’m forever yours,