and when i open the lid and am met with fruit flies swarming my face, i am first enraged and then often chuckle, cursing their inevitable reign and then shaking my head at my foolishness, wondering how you could tolerate and accept them with grace?
i miss you most when i buy bubble bath, or dish soap, or laundry soap and recall your commitment to a certain brand and store, and try to emulate your ethic.
i miss you most when i listen to the cbc and when my car is cold and maybe damp in the morning and takes too long to warm up. the boys ask me to change the station or tell me we will be late and i can see you behind the wheel as if it were yesterday, trying also to hurry the process along.
i miss you most when i swim in the ocean and when people look at me shocked and think i’m wild and maybe slightly unhinged for going in my clothes, or naked, or at all.
i miss you most when i realize that it’s too late to call my friend carla, because i think of her in halifax just like i thought of you but the time difference silences that opportunity, like it did for us.
i miss you most when eli notices a bee, every last one it seems, or when he stops and watches them, humbled and curious.
or maybe it’s when he follows them around, tentatively, or runs from them, afraid. i wish i hadn’t told him what took you, it’s a detail that he holds on to, but, at the very least, it’s spring and summer and so they are many and, for this, you are often on our mind.
i miss you most when i’m gardening
i think because the earth is soft and non judgemental or likely because it makes me tender, something i’m not always and something you so consistently were
perhaps it’s because it’s living and all things that are living remind me that you are gone too soon.
i miss you.