October 30, 2008 - October 30, 2009*

"525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes - how do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life? How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love. Seasons of love. 525,600 minutes! 525,000 journeys to plan. 525,600 minutes - how can you measure the life of a woman or man? In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried. In bridges he burned, or the way that he died. It’s time now to sing out, tho the story never ends.
Let's celebrate - remember a year in the life of friends."

~Rent, Seasons of Love

One year has passed. Just yesterday, one year ago he was here with us. For 365 days we have been able to point to the calendar and say, "Last year on this day, Patrick was with us."

Looking back, trying to remember November and December 2008 is impossible. Its all a blur. I can't remember almost anything from Christmas morning, Thanksgiving is a fog. I remember waking up every morning during the winter season with the immediate thought, "Patrick is dead, he's gone." Every single time I opened my eyes, I was reminded. And every night when I closed my eyes, I couldn't help but think of him lying in the bed at the hospital that terrible morning.

I couldn't not think about my sister caressing his face, my father's eyes shattered in sadness. My mother's ashen face, her grief-drooped shoulders. Her repeating over and over, "Not Patrick, not our Patrick. " The sound of my sister Lisa's guttural, primal scream in the backyard - her agony echoing in the early dawn. My brother Mike instantly in protection mode that morning in the hospital room; his watchful eyes never left my sisters or my parents. I couldn't stop thinking about any of it.

Nothing seemed important. Nothing mattered other than the fact that our loss was so horrific, so completely unfair and painful. In light of this... nothing seemed impossible. And that was the thing that stayed with me: if this can happen, anything can. The false blanket of security that had wrapped our world from harm was torn away, leaving us exposed and bare in a world where cruel and terrifying things can happen at any moment.

Every night I put my sons to bed, the sharp knowledge that it was possible that they wouldn't wake up in the morning turned a lovely ritual into something bleak and dark. The thought that my daughters could be taken from me in the blink of an eye would strike me cold. Fear. I was scared for a long time that someone else would be taken from me.

And then slowly, so slowly... bedtime once again returned to a celebration of the day we had. Snuggling little bodies into warm blankets and kisses goodnight, wishes for good dreams and plans for the next day replaced the fear that tomorrow may never be.

Spring was an unwelcome guest. I couldn't understand how it was possible that new life dare show its face to me. How could the snow on his grave possibly melt and reveal the rectangular earth below, clearly outlining his grave? Then, the grass grew in and slowly erased the newness of it, blending it in with all the other long-buried. It took away the "just yesterday-ness" of it. It forced me to acknowledge the ticking of the clock, the passing of time. Pushing me forward, further away from the days when he would walk through the front door.

And then slowly, ever so gently... the idea that time was taking us with it meant something different. It meant we survived. That after the worst happened, we were in fact still standing. That somewhere within each of us was the hope and the need to move with it, to cradle within us the memories and get back up again. To take action, to build something with the pain, to make a difference somehow.

As summer crept upon us, grief was starting to be replaced with something completely new: fearlessness. Carrying Patrick's spirit as a shield, I began to see that life, this life, in all its hardships, its joy-tears-laughter-fruitlessness-shallowness-imperfection is here today. I had let go of trying to imagine all the ways that it wouldn't be here tomorrow and learned to focus on the present. I could look back and point at where we had come from, see that we survived the worst... and know that nothing else could possibly scare me anymore.

Patrick is with us, I feel him every now and then. If I close my eyes, I hear his voice and his laugh. I see him in my dreams sometimes, but not nearly as much as I did. He rarely speaks in my dreams, he is just there... smiling that Patrick smile. No messages, no real meaning anymore. I don't miss those dreams, but I love that I had them.

Patrick carried us all this past year, of that I am certain. And slowly... gently... he has stood us up on our own two feet, tenderly nudging us forward.

~~~~~~~
*Today is Thursday, October 29th. And though his anniversary is tomorrow, he died on this Thursday. I woke up early today, at 6:34am. This is the exact time on the clock the morning I got the call from my mom.