It can be startling to suddenly become aware of his presence. To once again be forced to accept his role in my life.
It's as though some part of me has stood still, silent, motionless, all these years. Waiting, forever waiting.
Everyday, I see new reflections of him in The Boy. The movement of his body as he walked, toting trash bags. His hands as he wrote, ate or played pool. That smirk, and gentle dry wit.
I still long for his presence, as painful a reminder of his absence as it may be. Some would say that sort of clinging is unhealthy, a sign I haven't grieved well or completely. I simply remind them that when I love, I love forever and my forever hasn't ended with his death.