With Gusto

Dear Mike, 

     Your 44th birthday.  I just can't imagine anymore.  You on your way to 50.  You were practically a kid when you died.  My sadness has waxed and waned for the past few months.  I just can't believe it's nearly 20 years since you've passed.  It may as well be a lifetime.  It marks almost 10 years of unfinished business of the heart for me that is utterly wrenching at times.  If I could carry on your gift of pursuing your passions, interests and curiosities with the absolute gusto you gave each and everyone one of them I imagine that you would be cheering, clapping and "wooo-hoooing" like Kerrigan when Notre Dame is scoring a touchdown.  The angels alongside you would be wondering, "What on Earth is he going on about?"  I can see your smile and twinkle in your eye, your signature. 

     I love tradition, but it would be unlike me if I didn't change it up.  In honor of your gusto, our traditional birthday dinner of Mexican food (for your first job at Casa Burrito)  and chocolate eclairs (your choice dessert) are taking a year off in lieu of fresh Salmon and a croquembouche for dessert.  Our latest and fantastic success at our own story of gusto is actually catching a fish we can keep and eat!  And we are learning more and more with each attempt.  We are checking out different fly shops, finding our favorites, listening to suggestions, putting it all into practice, making new flies, practicing knots, scouting locations and researching online.  We even have our own favorite spots on the river to go now.  It's starting to feel like we sort of know what we're doing. when nearly a month ago I really felt like a complete idiot out there trying to figure it out after not much luck in the past.  And lastly I have wanted to make a croquembouche for years.  Maybe 8? 9? Maybe even 10.  Today I'm going to do it.  It's almost like a chocolate eclair ;) 

   I've written in years past that your birthday is like New Year's to me.  It's when my year resets itself, when I reflect on all that has passed and recount my accomplishments or what I haven't.  I still long for the year that I'm bubbling over with giants feats of passions pursued.  Could these small steps will be that giant leap?

     I miss what I imagined you would have been in my life today.  How we could have shared and enhanced each others skills.  I could use your driveway to part out our Volvo when I decided it was done.  We'd probably even work on the repairs together.  I didn't really get that chance with you.  That summer you worked on the motorcycle, I think it may have been your last summer, I could have learned from you.  Tears well up when I think back to that.  I was also scared of you sometimes.  I hate that.  I wish it weren't so.

     Saw this quote today.  "Forgiving you means I no longer dwell on what an a****le you are.  It doesn't mean you're no longer an a****le."  I thought of Randall,  except that I don't think he's an a****le.  But I no longer dwell on him, what he did.  I don't hate him.  I do feel sad for him.  Having to live with what he did for the rest of his life.  I can't imagine.  I don't think I could.  I do wonder what his life is like though.  If he is different.  If it's better.  Like I had hoped for you when you were a young adult. 

     I wish for the stray shards of my heart to find their final resting place this year, right back to where they fell from.  Made from a stronger tissue with threads of quiet and self-love woven through.  A tissue that sparkles like the gleam in your eyes, beaming joy that's powered by gusto. I want to smile like a 3-year-old's deep belly laughs again.

I love you.

Gabby