Mourning

It is a good thing to mourn, I think. Today I am carried away by thoughts of, memories of Robb Harris. As the tears flow again and again, missing him so much my heart aches and I struggle to do my work, my throat tight with unheard sobs, it occurs to me what a lovely, sad, horrid, beautiful thing it is to mourn. In this mourning I am reminded what it is to have had Robb in my life. I hear his laugh; I see him smile; I hear him speak; watch him walk; He is everywhere in my mind. So many memories involve him. Lilacs remind me of him. Daylilies remind me of him. Paninis, songs, oh, so many things.

As I remember, together with the pain of missing him so much I can scarcely breathe, I remember his warmth. I can feel his affection for me, his caring, and remember and bask in our lovely friendship. I am reminded, with some amazement, that he thought highly of me. I don’t know what I did to deserve that. I remember his concern for me in my struggle with fibromyalgia. I remember how impressed I was with the way he dealt with his narcolepsy. I’m still impressed with you, Robb.

Most of all, Robb was fun. He was smart, probably too smart for his own good, and loved to tell stories and get into what I can only call hijinks for lack of a better word. He would chortle as he told stories about potato cannons (and I have no doubt he still had at least one, even into his sixties.) We would sing gospel favorites. He was fond of gospel quartets.

He was endlessly generous. Ah, how I miss that man. My friend, my adoptive family–Robb Harris. This grieving is a good thing. It means I knew and was known, It means there is value to the person lost. And it reminds┬áme to be grateful to have had him in my life and for the time I spent with him.

 

 

 

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