Its not that I forgot to call you on your birthday, its the first thing I thought of on April 10th. Then Terry got Tadg out the door before we could call. I didn’t think of it again until I was tucking them into bed that night. “First thing in the morning we’ll call”, I told myself. You’d already died by the time we gathered together to sing happy birthday to you over the phone the next morning.
I have dreamed of you more in the last year than I’ve ever dreamed of you before. Always crystal clear, sometimes laughing, sometimes imparting mysterious messages, a few times crying harder than I knew you could cry. I’ve appreciated the frequent visits. I’m especially grateful for your visits to Tadg, he told us you kissed him at night and said you loved him. What more could we hope for?

The seasons grieved with us – summer was wet and the coldest in recorded history, winter was relentless in too many ways. Today the weather finally assembled itself into a reasonable spring. We spent time in the garden, remembering what it was like to be warmed by the sun. I believe we’re owed a long hot summer now, I feel like we’ve earned it. If you can do anything about that we’d sure appreciate it.
I wrote a short piece about your death a week after Mom found you: “People people people. Dad was well known and well loved. Threads of him are woven deeply into many lives.” I wonder what its been like for you, feeling those threads and how they’ve changed since you died?
By now you know how much shamanism means to me. It allowed me to work with you in the process of your passing, and in the time that followed. I hope it has felt as good to you as it has me, to have this way of connecting available to us both.
A few days after you died, when your presence was still strong in the house, I felt some part of you come into my heart. I didn’t really understand the reason for it, but after checking in with my spirits I decided to accept it for a time. Sometimes when I feel my grief I think part of it might really be yours.
Its time to release that part of you – to really let go. I’m a little scared, but comforted by the thought that letting go of things we love so much has a way of bringing them closer to us. It has to do with Separatio, something else I wrote about when you died. We can only truly meet and embrace each other when we are completely separate and fully ourselves.
I return to you that which is yours. I accept that which is me but afraid to live without your constant presence. I trust that when we are allowed to go our separate ways, our paths will find each other again. All my love to you.

I know you remember this Irish blessing well:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May the Creator hold you in the palm of Her hand.