Three years

And I ain’t over it yet.

Richard’s death broke me; broke me bad, into tiny pieces. I am still trying to find all the fragments of my psyche. They are on the floor. Some may be lost to the waste bin. Others call to me from the tiny crevasses of the room. And others scream in protest, unable to believe the loss; the disaster. There is no limit to the damage. I loved him dearly. I still do.

And now all I can do is grieve. Driving into Hood River yesterday, I had to pull my car over to the shoulder. I was overwhelmed with pain. Remembrances of a great man, a man who could keep me centered and directed. Memories of Amsterdam and Paris and Hamburg and Copenhagen and Avignon and Le-Grau-du-Roi and Reykjavik and Montréal and Lourdes and Vienna and Sopron and Bratislava and all the other places we visited together.

All they are is memories. Memories of a happier time… a time when, and I am tempted to say “life was simpler”. But it was. It was so easy being with Richard. I was overtaken by his kindness and his good heart.

We grew into that old married couple syndrome. There was usually a Saint or a cat or two between us in bed. Our time together was disjointed. Richard often worked late, it worked early. He was an artisan, I have no artistic talent what so ever. He was… and that is the problem. He was.

Richard James Parker, you will live forever in my heart.