A Jumble of Words

 I haven't written in over a month. It's been a good month. I spent two weeks in Chile; hiking and being with friends in an incredibly beautiful place called Patagonia. I felt Andrew's presence daily. I don't know if he enjoyed traveling really. We traveled as a family. He did enjoy that but his addiction took up some anxious space in the last years of our travel time together. 

Being with a group, some of whom didn't know me, was interesting. I enjoyed the group time, more than I as a high level introvert, thought I would. We, my husband and I, were with friends who had experienced significant losses. So we did some talking about our losses. But it felt okay. 

I was struck several times by the thought; as I move into my fourth year without Andrew physically here, how much I miss him, how much I can cry about not having him here. There is a steady ache now; which can become intense but subsides. I'm better at taking a breath, letting it out and being in the moment. I'm better at taking care of myself. 

Today, I wish my fellow travelers would have known him. Yes, we all are grieving but our paths are different. And somehow, expressing grief with people who knew him and loved him, feels to me, less alone, less a solitary journey. 

To try to convey a sense, a description of a person who isn't here becomes a jumble of words whose exact meaning is lost in each person's perceptions and personal meanings. So when I say, Andrew was funny, smart, a great problem solver, energetic, sensitive, calm in a crisis. People create their own person based on what they know of those descriptors. Yes, it's Andrew but not. I'll continue to share Andrew for the rest of my life but there is sadness attached to trying and failing  to convey the essence of Andrew. 

Maybe, I'm thinking now, that is why carrying him forward, having a good life/ doing what would make him happy or proud of me is so important. It does feel more like I'm honoring Andrew, honoring a continuing relationship when I know he would be happy and proud of me, it comforts me. It's a concrete way he is here.