I Remember When It Was Just Us

I remember when it was just us.  It was you and I.  There was nothing that didn’t work for us.  You and me, me and you and we smiled.  Flower leis, travel and so many things for us to discover together.  This was one of your favorite places, Hawaii.  

We went there often.  We had our first kiss in Hawaii.  We got married in Hawaii. We took our family to Hawaii.  We spent our 10 year anniversary in Hawaii.  When it was you and me, you wanted to take me to Hawaii.  

The day after you died, I sat in my bed and thought, “you can see me now.”  I could see you too.  But it was in a way that worked only without you being there anymore.  I listened to you tell me how alive you felt in the air.  

You told me that you went up into the sky paragliding to try and find that feeling of alive.  I didn’t know that’s why you were doing it.  Then I felt what you felt, that you didn’t feel a lot.  I knew it was really difficult for you to even feel at all.  

There were two places where you felt alive.  One was in the air.  The other, it was in Hawaii.  That’s why you kept taking me there.   You wanted me to feel the alive you, not only the you that couldn’t feel in the world that demanded so much of you.  

The world where you demanded so much of you.  In the air and in Hawaii, you felt alive without the pressures of life.  Ahhhh…. I realized.  That’s why you kept reaching for the sky.  That’s why you kept leaving me, on the ground, while you went up to feel.  I didn’t know you couldn't feel easily here on the ground. I thought everything was ok, good even.  But inside you was a darkness that took you up to find the light, to find your freedom, to find your life.  

The irony is that it took your life, but I never would have guessed that.  I just knew you loved it and you had so much life force energy when you went.  I loved that for you.  I just didn’t realize that what was down here wasn’t enough and you were searching. 

It's kinda like I’m searching now, to find you.  In finding you, we lost you.  I think that might even be how it's supposed to work, though not always in death.  It seems there must alway be a death of some sort.  So here I am grounded on the earth while you fly.  I’m thinking about all the little deaths in life that I’ve now experienced and I think I’m finally alive enough to feel them and appreciate them and love them.

  When I think of you, I wish I could have known what you felt, what you were looking for and why you went up into the sky.  When I think of Hawaii, I feel so grateful that you took me to the only place where you felt alive on the  earth. You took me so you could feel alive with me here on the ground.   

When I think of really being alive, I think of all the life around me.  I feel grateful to be here on this earth.  When I think of death, I think of all the things in me that have died.  How each one starts a new strand of life in me until I feel that I am filled with so much life.

I know what it is to truly live now. It comes through death, because all that is will not stay as it is. It will move into something else as time passes.  For me, knowing and holding onto what I love in life, to love being here, grounds me to life.   

It’s harder than I thought and I wish I could have known how you really felt.  But your death has taught me how to live life in a new and beautiful way.  With death always right by my side reminding me just how momentary every moment is, that when it’s gone, it is dead. Then the new life can come through it.  

Thank you Grant for doing all you were capable of to share feeling with me.  I’m so sorry that I couldn’t find it in the air with you.  I wish I could have gone up with you, but I wanted to stay down, so I could stay here.  You were braver than I was, but I am stronger than you were.