Today was particularly pleasant in St. Louis. The snow is melting, and I was able to take my jacket off in the sun. I took a walk with a friend (which I haven't been able to do since injuring my foot on a run and being in a boot for the past two weeks) and ate Girl Scout cookies that I bought from the sweetest little girls on a corner near my apartment and bought myself bubble tea as a treat for getting my work done today.
I've been feeling particularly stormy the past few weeks-- a difficult start to my semester, the whole foot thing, the general pressure of being alive considering the current state of the world... but things have been looking up over the past week and so much is going right in my life and in the people I love's lives. All of this to say, this is a normal day, in a normal week.
There's a reason why I didn't remember today was the anniversary of my uncle's death. I have to think really hard to remember it at all. Most of the time it just feels like we haven't talked recently, and I'll see him soon at whatever family holiday is next. And then, when I'm at whatever next family holiday it feels like he was there-- like I can almost remember him eating at the table and chatting and giving me crap for being a vegetarian. Sometimes, I think I can hear his laugh, and I can remember his hug so vividly it feels like I was hugged recently. Not six years ago.
A few months ago, my grandparents came to visit me in St. Louis and they took me to the base where they lived and worked. It was my uncle's birthday and my grandma pointed to the part of the hospital where she gave birth, and my grandpa told me how his friends celebrated him becoming a father. 50 years later and I felt so close to my uncle as I wondered if that was what the leaves looked like the day he entered this plane of existence and if that was how the wind felt. It was a devastatingly beautiful day. Just like today. Just like it was probably six years ago.
I was reminded of what today means by a family member who wanted to share their remembrance of my uncle with me. It pissed me off at first because I didn't want to remember what is missing from my life. And the reminder that eventually there will be more loss-- because that's what happens. But then I remembered how lucky I am to hold my loved ones close and to be held close by them and to have ever been held close by them.
My uncle would think it was crazy and cool that I run marathons now. He would read my blog and let me tell him about the people I find annoying at school. He would be my biggest cheerleader and probably repost my Facebook pictures without saying anything just to show me and my sister off. I don't know who he would have grown into over these six years, but he would've been so happy to see me and my sister grow up.
And maybe in some other plane of existence, he has seen. I mean, in this plane of existence, he's still posting on Facebook! (What I really mean is that someone else hacked his account and changes his profile picture every now and then, and posts weird stuff as if it were him posting. This also pissed me off at first, but then I realized he'd probably think it was funny.)
All of this is to say what I think and say a lot these days: love your people and say your prayers.
My prayer for today is this: Dear universe/spirit/god, thank you for the people who have made me and for the overflowing abundance of love in my life. When my time comes, please let all of my birthdays and next-life-over-days be so beautiful those who love me can think of nothing else but how gorgeous the weather is. Give them inspiration for poems, the motivation to go after hard things, and let them keep their memories of my laugh and the warmth of my hugs so vividly that they feel like they just saw me last week. Thank you for keeping my heart whole even when someone who filled it so greatly and deeply no longer can in this physical world.
// I am with you, and you are with me. And so is the septum ring I got after your funeral that you would definitely harass me about. Or love. Probably both.