“To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing,
for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation.”
~ Tan Twan Eng, The Gift of Rain

I remember the smile you wore when I first came to your door.
I remember our first embrace, so full of yearning.
I remember our first kiss, so full of delight.
It was a tender time, wasn’t it? 
The sweetness held us, even as we revealed the pain that we each had known.

I remember lazy walks with you among pine and cypress trees,
the ocean’s soft roar in the distance calling us.

I remember deep conversation interspersed with comfortable silences,
as though our two souls needed time to breathe –
to breathe in the fullness, the beauty, and the terror,
of all we had experienced before meeting,
all we were experiencing now with each other.

I remember quiet days and sleepless nights.

I remember worrying I might not be enough for you,
confident you were everything I needed.

I remember you always being there for me,
with a fierce and tender loyalty and love.

I remember making mistakes and being forgiven.

I remember the long waiting hours 
for the doctor to return from the operating room 
and invite me into a private space to talk.
And I remember the distress I saw in her eyes 
as she delivered the awful news –
your abdominal cavity was riddled with a rare form of cancer,
they didn’t yet know its origin,
but they had done their best to get all of it.

I remember the years of oncology visits and the many tests and scans 
and invasive procedures the medical world inflicted on your body 
to save you for another day, another month, another year.

I remember the silent toll it took on you, 
even as you wholeheartedly embraced each day of living.

I remember time – 
measured, sifted, scattered —
that we received as gift and blessing.

I remember your hand slipping into mine whenever we walked.

I remember the places we still wanted to go together,
the life we imagined living together. 

I remember the times we were apart,
wanting only to return to you.

I remember joy and sadness mingling so often as one.

I remember being deeply humbled and grateful to have you in my life.

I remember not being able to imagine your absence.
And now, there is no need to imagine it.
It meets me unwanted around every turn.

Mark Lloyd Richardson
In memory of Dallis
April 2024