It's finally Spring. After a long, cold and rainy Winter, New Orleans is wearing a fresh coat of green. You loved this time of year. The warm weather would pull you out for long bike rides, walks by the levee, and digging in the garden. Weeding, you loved weeding for some reason I never understood. Oxalis would bring out the beast in you. We would plant beds of flowers, carefully choosing the colors, placing them in just the right spot, finally standing back on the curb to admire our work. I love remembering you in Spring, I love the memory of so much promise.
I wonder if it's Spring where you are.
Where are you? So many times I've thought about this. The day you died I felt certain you were lifted to a beautiful and spiritual place, a place I cannot comprehend. I could see it on your face with your last breath and I felt great comfort in that moment. I knew there was something beyond this world and you were safely held by those arms. But now, where are you? My mind can't wrap around an answer. Am I waiting for you to appear at the foot of the bed, waiting for you to tell me you're safe and happy? Will I hear your voice, channeled through the cat wailing at 3:00 AM? I can feel your presence sometimes, find a pillow with your scent still clinging to it, discover a note you'd written to me months ago and feel the coincidence is more than coincidence. There's good things happening for me, is that you? Is that your smile on the face of a friend or stranger who stops by the gallery for conversation? Is that you, in the warm Spring rain, coming to me like you said you would? I gather the thoughts, wanting to believe, wanting and craving the comfort they bring for even the shortest of moments. It is my faith, failing me, sustaining me.
I wonder if it's Spring where you are. I hope there's flowers.
I love you,