Eight

Eight months. Seems like eight days.

Stories

I love, love, love hearing stories about Maura. I love the little glimpses into pieces of her life that I did not personally witness. I love hearing how she affected others. In the past couple of weeks I have heard from someone who made her chili for a cook-off and took second place. I heard from the lead singer/guitarrist of a local band who, one night last year, jumped off the stage to dance with Maura, leaving his band to finish the song alone. I heard about her songs and laughter and smile.

All the stories make me happy.

Danielle

I miss her already.

She is on her way to Australia to study music.
Just for a year. Probably.
Studying at Hillsong is the first thing since Maura's death to make her happy. She's nervous and worried, but excited. And happy. -ish. Everything is -ish for all of us.

I spoke with a friend of mine who very recently lost her husband to cancer. "Will I ever feel joy again?" she asked me, somewhat rhetorically.
Yes, I told her. It's still raw and it doesn't feel like it did before, but it is unmistakably joy. Maybe just a sliver.
I told Card Blue the same thing because he was so worried about his wife and kids. I think it might have helped him a little bit. He said it did.
Not that I'm all happy and bubbly like before because I'm not. But maybe some day...

So, it's wonderful to see Danielle pursuing something she loves, something that gives her a modicum of joy. It won't make the pain go away for her, but it seems like it must be a start.

But I worry.

Why do my daughters insist on making major changes in their lives when all the wisdom and all the advice and the books say not to make any major changes for at least a year?

I miss Danielle and Lydia and Maura. When Dani disappeared through the security checkpoint at the airport, I broke down just a smidge. But then I remembered it was only for a year. Eleven months, actually.
Not the rest of my life.
It was a strangely cheering thought.