I go to bed thinking that I’m not ready for this,
the memory of the day you left us and went home.
Time has gone by quickly,
and before I know it has been two years,
full of pain and suffering and loneliness and anguish and pleading.
My selfish self wonders if you or God had an insight on what’s to come and that He decided to spare you the burden of being there in-person for me…
That could be one of the factors at least, I think sometimes.
These two years were marked by your picture-frame never leaving my bedside,
with tear-filled conversations and pleas for you to do something from your end for God to shake things a little.
You were there in every single one of those conversations,
and you still tolerate those opportunistic attempts of mine to benefit of your leading the way and returning home before the rest of us.
There’s something within me that I hesitate to write down,
but I will anyway,
how lucky have I been,
how lucky am I,
to have known someone so true.
Gosh, you’ve set the bar infinitely high in a world that couldn’t care less about truth anymore.
I can’t help but compare you with encounters that have shown me immense cruelty during a time I needed kindness the most,
and then I suffer twice, for your tangible kindness that is no longer there, and from the adulterated kind that is in offer these days that is nothing but manipulation upon a closer look.
It’s been a couple of years,
and God knows how many more to come,
but your truthfulness and your kindness is never to be forgotten.
You might be “gone”,
but you still listen,
you still give me the space to open up and feel loved,
and you’re present, far more present than what most can muster.