Hi there,
It’s me, Lyn.
I just wanted to say, “Hey, I miss you.”
A lot has happened since you’ve been gone.
Hard to believe it’s been an entire year.
I moved to Vermont.
Yeah, I know it’s pretty cold up here. Lots of snow. But it’s not so bad with a sweater.
I fell in love. Twice, actually. But I think you’d like them.
He’s smart and a good partner to have in a game of Rook.
She’s kind and a good partner to have out in the garden.
They both make me laugh. They both make me happy.
The other grandkids are good too. You’d be so proud of them all.
We try to find joy together even in the milestones that you’re no longer here for.
I’m glad you weren’t here to see the hurricane tear up our mountains.
Or the wildfires that have ignited in the remnants of that destruction.
It would make you so sad to see your favorite place in the world flood and then burn.
I don’t think you would have been happy with the current state of politics either.
There’s not a lot of folks helping each other, and I know that would have made you mad. You always did tell me that the most important thing was to take care of each other. I try to hold onto the hope that we all will find a way to do so.
I cooked Christmas dinner for us this year. Swear you were there in the kitchen with me. I hope they have a satisfactory kitchen wherever you are, and I hope you got a double oven just like it should be.
I don’t know what you would have said about all the latest. I wonder if you’d be a bit sad like me.
I still hear your voice in my head sometimes when I’m driving the car telling me to be safe on the road. Maybe you’re thinking of me then just as I am thinking of you.
I’m writing just like I promised you I would.
I know that you’d really like this story. It’s about our mountains after all. Maybe one day I’ll get to tell it to you.
Sometimes I forget that you’re gone. I think about calling you up to tell you about my day. I’ll see something that reminds me of you and want to remember it for my next visit until I remember that I’ll just have to tell you in those quiet moments that sit in between. I know that’s where I’ll always find you now.
I’m trying not to hate this time of year, but it’s really hard. Too many times spring has cut me up, crocuses blooming into glass. Losing you was bitter, even as the hummingbirds returned, their throats stained red.
I promise that I’m trying to have more patience.
Sadie is as sweet as ever.
I hope Ellie is there with you.
I saw a chickadee this morning, and it looked at me. I think it was you coming to say hello. So I told it, “Hey, I miss you.” And I think it knew what I meant.
Fly safe on your way back down south to tell all the rest of our loved ones hello too.
I miss you, MJ.
Talk more soon.
xoxo, Lyn
❤️