I can’t help but wonder what my son would have been doing on this day. What project he would have been working on for his employer; where would he have been living? Would he be already married to the love of his life? Maybe bought his own home or at least a car? Would he be planning a long-awaited holiday or he might even be on one, celebrating this anniversary? No doubt he would have been surrounded by people that loved him because it seems to me like everyone did. Even if he was just on the train to North Sydney poking fun at the other commuters on his twitter account he’d be looking forward to getting together with his friends or family after work for a drink.
My oldest daughter sent me an email asking if it’s weird to feel thankful for the pain. And that made me think. It made ME think that the pain will never go away; nor should it. I think the pain, that ache in my heart and the feeling in the pit of my stomach that signals for either tears to start streaming from my eyeballs or the need to swallow hard, multiple times, is a deep and growing understanding of that which we once had and now we have no longer. It’s the feeling of regret, of opportunities wasted, of potential unfulfilled, of a life with so much promise that was not fully lived. The pain reminds us to pay attention and appreciate those things in our existence that are truly important. For that reminder, I am thankful.
I’m uplifted by the continual and heartfelt communication from Geoff's friends, by the periodic postings on his Facebook page that only continues to exist to help all of us that are left behind to cope, to have somewhere to go when we are missing him to tell him what we are thinking, all the while wondering if there is any possibility he could know, while hoping there is.
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