August 17, 2023 (Post two)

Hello Annette, my dear best friend…

For over four decades I’ve gone to sleep and awakened to the gentle sound of your breathing as you lay next to me. But at 1:04 AM one year ago today, it was silence that woke me up. In that moment, time stopped, the world shifted, my heart shattered, and life forever changed.

Just five months before you learned you had cancer. you wrote in a travel journal; “Over the past 3 days we have walked in some amazing wild places. It made me wonder how people can have the strength to leave this beautiful world for wherever they go.” This is one of many reasons why your death has been so painful for me. You were amazed by our incredible world. You craved new experiences and adventures and were so alive, curious and energetic. Nothing fulfilled you more than experiencing nature through the strength of your own body and living a life of purpose and meaning. You are the only person I knew (or know) who had a personal mission statement—included below—which you read each week to ensure you were living your values. I have adopted this for my own life. Thank you!

I will admit that one year out from your death, there remains a part of me that is no longer. The emptiness I have felt over the past year has been devastating, yet the world still spins, and life continues. I have over the past year adapted to living without you, to the silence and the feeling of loss. I no longer expect you to walk through the door, to feel your warm, loving embrace. I miss you so very much. The hole in my heart your passing has left will always be there.

When you were going through cancer treatments, you had a “smile board” where you would hang pictures, articles, cards and inspiring messages you could look at when you needed a lift. A year ago, I set up a “Smile table” with photos, special items and more that remind me of you and our life together. The table is in a place I pass constantly, and it causes me to stop, look and remember. To cry tears of both sadness for your loss and the pain I feel, and of joy and gratitude for the amazing adventure of our life together and the intense love I continue to feel. To embrace and experience the full range of these emotions makes me human, connects me to you and helps my heart heal.

I also want to assure you, Annette, that I am doing well and taking care of myself. The decisions we made as we journeyed through cancer to focus on all that is good, and to treat each day as a gift helped so much then and continues to help me heal now. I am surrounded by so many wonderful, supportive and encouraging people. The moments of intense grief are now ephemeral; I’m able to shift quickly to gratitude for all you have given me and for all I have before me. I am optimistic, enjoying life and moving forward. I am learning not to feel guilty for this. Instead, I tell myself it’s my responsibility to live the mission you so thoughtfully created.

There is another Michael Franti song that I listen to, especially when I struggle with grief. The music video “A Brighter Day” is below. It's a good reminder that life is beautiful and to not give up. It’s also hard not to smile and feel optimistic with the beat of the music. You may see me dancing in our van to this over the coming year.

A year ago, I wrote that I was now on the most difficult journey of my life without you beside me. I have found that this isn’t true; you have been with me every step of the way. You continue to guide me toward joy and beauty. Thank you, Annette, for being always and forever with me.

Love always,

David