Somewhere along the way, the moments became hours. Then days, weeks, and years.

Two years. You have been gone for two years.

Most moments, I am at peace with the fact that we now live in this world, without you. At peace with how you left us. But there are some moments when that very peace feels like a betrayal. A betrayal of our history. A betrayal of what we were to each other. An abandonment of you. And of us.

In those moments, when I begin to feel like a traitor, I think that perhaps I should hold on to the sorrow, to the anger, to the regret, to the grief. Perhaps I need to hold onto it all, in order to hold on to you. To us. So I hold on, in those moments.

Then there are moments of letting go. Of actively, and passively releasing those feelings. Some of those moments of letting go feel light, free-floating. And some feel disloyal. Unfaithful to the friendship that we had. Unfaithful to the relationship that I, alone, still have.

I’m still alive. I still have the relationship. And after all this time, I still have moments when I forget that you’re gone. I’ll be living my day to day, moving through the usual, and then you pop into my head, and I have to remember, again, that you are not alive. You are dead.

Those moments of remembering what I want to forget can feel raw, fresh, brand new. They can leave me hollow, empty, and breathless, like that night two years ago, all over again.

In those moments, I could begin the grieving process all over again. The questions begin to bubble up. The anger. The disbelief. The sorrow. The regrets.

But rather than devote myself to the moments of sorrow, pain, and regret, I devote myself to the memory of the feelings that I had when you were here- the good and the bad. I recall the energy that was you- the highs and the lows. I embrace the humanity that was you- the ease and the struggle. I tap into your spirit, in my heart, and your laughter, in my head. Still there. Always there. I find peace, in those moments.

As time passes, there are more and more moments of peace…

…How absolutely wonderful, and sad, is that?