So here I am, faithfully at my keyboard on May 5. So many things have been left unsaid since last year; big changes, small changes, milestones, this that and the other, all things that I've been meaning to write down, meaning to commit to history. My nephew turned one last month. The flame of a relationship flickered and burnt out. My childhood home is being dismantled box by box. These are things, important things, that I've wanted - no, needed - to talk about, but I just... haven't. But here I am, now. An electronic vigil, every year, without fail. Even if there are no new words, it's still important that I'm here, that I'm remembering out loud, remembering so other people can hear and so that in some way, her memory is still alive, safe with strangers, safe in this digital archive. It's the very least of things that can be done, and it's insignificant. But it's a tiny candle in the dark, it's my own tribute, the best I know how. Even the littlest of words. Even if just for a minute. Remembering. Like always. Because I won't forget. No matter where I end up, there's always a tiny little piece of my heart reserved for one of the most amazing friends I've ever had. Those years can never be taken away, even if future years were. And I would have rather had just those years than none at all.
Not the best photo any of us have ever taken, but it was the first one we took together.
Move out day, spring 2004. Sadler House, Helser Hall, Iowa State University. Best year ever.