Sunday, January 13, 2013

Eight Month Anniversary

Today, my Nana died.

After eighty-some years of life, my Mom's mom, drifted off peacefully to a long sleep. Her death lends me a dreary awareness on this day--our eight month anniversary--that love stories matter and dramatically shape our lives.

Papa went first. Two years ago. And ever since then, Nana has been ready to follow him. She's never been herself since he died. And how could she? They lived and loved for over fifty years and then their love story came to an abrupt halt. I can't imagine how Nana lived the last two years knowing that the love of her life was gone.

I'm pretty sure that I think about death more than the "average" person. The fear of losing the people I love is never far from my mind. Especially lately, with too many funerals. And today, I looked at Jeremy, my love and my greatest friend, and feared, yet again, how I could ever keep living without him. How our love story--like every love story--will eventually come to an end.

And this realization offers two choices: to dread and fear the end or to live and embrace the present. I imagine that not a person on his or her death bed wishes for less time. For more fast-paced, fleeting moments. For time to pass them by.

So today, we laid in bed until 9:26am. And held each other close as the mid-morning sun filtered through the window.

We giggled about things that don't make any sense.

We talked about this day eight months ago that started such a grand adventure.

He made me breakfast.

He held my hand as I told my sister that Nana had passed away.

We did laundry.

We went bowling with dear friends.

We ate leftovers.

We squeezed each other a little tighter knowing that this love story matters.


And for as long as this story lasts, we will live well and love well.
In memory of the many love stories before us.








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