Nine months already. I've thought about her more in the nine months since she died than I did in the nine months leading up to her death. I still apologize for that; I'll regret it forever.
The cemetery has a candlelight ceremony in early December. They sell candles to the mourners, and after a brief service, you place the candle on your loved one's grave. Mom says it's pretty special (she does it for Papaw). I've never went before, but I will for Megan.
Her mother has passed an open invitation by way of a mutual friend to come and see her and talk about Megan. I'm too scared to go, too afraid I'll break down in front of her, and make her grief worse.
Her mother had added an angel to her grave with a handwritten message, and a friend a couple of months ago left a laminated photo of Megan. Today, between the two of them, it broke my heart.
I think I'll buy two of the same ornaments this year, and leave one at her grave and keep one for my tree. Christmas was significant to both of us, though not the way it should have been. I think I'll send a holiday condolence card to her family, too; Christmas will be rough for them.
Nine months have passed since you died, but I carry your memory with me. Few are the days that pass without a tear, a prayer, or even a simple thought of you. I miss you, Megan.
I need to say goodbye although you're with me.
I stand beside your grave, yet you are here.
I miss you terribly and hope you miss me,
But when I turn to you, you're always near.
I talk to you as though you lived within me,
Not changed but simply moved in from outside.
I know each day you must a little leave me,
But here, as always, you must be my guide.
You were and are and will be, just as ever,
In many minds and hearts, not only mine.
No physical event can such love sever;
Death is a dimension, not a line.
And so goodbye does not mean you are gone:
So long as I still love you, you live on.
-- Author Unknown