This poem kind of wrote itself early this morning when I woke up, thinking about Mike, who died a year ago next week. I want to share it on this group where people understand...
September
The last days and weeks of your life were in golden September. We were surrounded by love and angels and soft September air.
The lost decades were a rich tapestry of love, loss, pain, laughter, joy, life. Though I am loved still, you took with you over three decades of your way of loving me. So that part of me is gone. I miss it. I miss you. Me without you is strange and unfamiliar as I navigate this strange and unfamiliar new world. Not alone, but without you, the person who knew me almost better than I know myself.
Maybe people think I’m doing well - they see me, surviving, living, loving - but my history was with you and without you sometimes I wonder who I am.
September will always be your month. The start of autumn, the beginning of the death of winter. I’ll think of you in the gold and blue chill of early morning, in the long shadowed afternoons and damply darkening evenings of these autumn days.
You were loved. You are missed.
Hope today has been ok for you 
x
Here's a virtual hug
