The first time it happened, I was in the middle of a (really painful) falling out with my best friend in college. I was sure it was phantom pain, until I lost my baby, our second pregnancy, and it happened again-an aching in my left palm. That’s usually how I know I’m feeling heartbroken.
Now that you’ve been gone almost a year, I know that’s exactly what it is. Grief. It takes the breath from my lungs and makes my left hand ache.
Tonight my hand aches.
You’re everywhere in Hawaii. I thought maybe it would help me to get away, but you and I are knitted together, as it turns out, so I end up taking you everywhere.
While I’m on the plane I think about your first plane trip to Maui 30 years ago, when I was 3, and how incredible you were to set foot on a 6 hour flight.
I hear my tiny toddler voice asking you what you’re doing, sitting out on the balcony. Always sitting facing the ocean, reading or just watching. I can feel my curly, wet hair dampening my oversized nightshirt, asking you when the sun will set. We count down from 10, and when it hasn’t set yet, we go back to 10 and start again. I never remember finishing. I was happy just to bask in your twilight.