one year without him.

the well-wishers have mostly faded back into the woodwork. the fresh raw slash of grief has passed and most people have moved on.

sometimes i feel like i am the only one left to remember him. the only one left to make sure he is loved and cherished and appreciated. the only left to make it mean something that he was once here.

i wish he had remarried. i wish i had siblings. i wish he had siblings. i wish i had someone to laugh with about old memories. maybe then the tears would more often turn to smiles. or maybe i'd not feel buried under the weight of being his only legacy. the only mark he made on the world. the only thing left to point to and say look. he was here. he mattered.

the pressure is enormous, really. only matched maybe by the sadness and the desperate feeling of unfairness.

i feel sad for those of you who never knew him. which would be all of you, i guess. and i often finding myself wanting to tell stories of him. to put those memories out there so that they are more real. more tangible. so that maybe there will be little pieces of him alive in your memories, too. so that i will not be carrying them all alone.

but oddly, i can never find the energy to write them. the stories, they still weigh too much. and the prospect of starting to weave them into a coherent tale is...well, i'm tired just thinking about it. for now they live in my heart and mind as abstract images. flashes of scenes, memories of the way he laughed. the way he smelled, the way he couldn't pass up a pepperoni pizza, and the way he taught me how to play backgammon.

they're all with me for now. and maybe they'll never come out.

all i know is that i miss him so desperately and i wish there was someone who understood the exact texture of my grief without me having to weave it for them.