Two Years

It's strange how a death anniversary awakens the dull ache of loss. I never really believed in spirits or ghosts. And yet, your death weighs on me heavily today.

I remember my mental and emotional state two years ago. Shock, disbelief, grief, distress--the emotions felt too deep to ever overcome. Today, the grief lingers rather than chokes. The heaviness is lighter. The paradox of you, so full of life, now dead, twists my mind less.

Your life and death taught me to me surrender to the joy of unexplainable miracles. The parking lot incident at UC Irvine, the small window of perfect weather and impromptu fireworks show during our speech, seeing the northern lights again for the anniversary of our proposal and yet again the same weekend a year after we last spoke: your life and death taught me to not write these special moments off as glorified coincidences. Life is too beautifully fleeting--death is too devastatingly abrupt--to not open my heart to wonder.

We miss you, Andrew. I know you're smiling out there, somewhere. Keep watching over us; keep making your miracles happen.

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