I still miss your feet…

I posted this message awhile ago to the universe: “Strangely, I still miss your feet, Daniel. Pressing into the earth and the sea and the playa dust next to mine. Your toes beside my toes. Or perhaps more often, my toes trying to catch up to yours.”

I missed Daniel before Daniel was even gone. In the months after his stem-cell transplant, a silhouette of him brushed past me on his way from our kitchen into the living room. Instinctively I had reached out and pulled him close. Squeezing him gently/tightly, as he was so frail. And as I fought back tears, I whispered “I miss you”.

I think those words surprised both of us. How strange to tell your person standing in front of you whom you live with that you miss them? But we both knew exactly what I was saying. That even though he was still here, so much of him was already gone. And so much of us was already missing.

For a moment I panicked, wondering if I should have let those words slip out. Not meaning to impart further pain. But I relaxed a bit, because I trusted what I was saying was: “I see you” “I see your loss” “it hurts and I feel helpless” “I’m not going to look away because it’s painful” “I love you sooooooo fucking much” “I’m 1000% here”.

And I will never regret saying any of those things. Ever.

Sometimes, being the witness to another’s pain is the greatest, and only, gift you can offer. Especially when it cannot be fixed. Only carried.

Death Valley in July. How he took this picture, I don’t even want to know!

xo