Sometimes I am scared that I will forget your face. Or your voice. Or how exactly you sounded when you said, “Hey, Kris.”
Sometimes I am scared of forgetting how beautiful your life was.
Sometimes I am scared of a world that goes on when you are gone.
I am scared of the eighteenth year, which means it will all be equal – the amount of time you lived, the amount of time you’ve been gone.
I am scared of my wavering belief in God, in Good, in Hope.
Here’s what we put on your tombstone:
“I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself.” – Exodus 19:4
Here’s what you might say to me, to calm my fears and give me peace:
“I come home from the soaring
in which I lost myself.
I was song, and the refrain which is God
is still roaring in my ears.
Now I am still
no more words.
To the others I was like a wind:
I made them shake.
I’d gone very far, as far as the angels,
and high, where light thins into nothing.
But deep in the darkness is God . . . .”
(Rainer Maria Rilke, Love Poems to God)
I love and miss you, Will!