Sometimes I find myself crying as I if had just heard the news that Robin is gone and other days I don’t know the news at all because I read something or hear something on the television and think to myself, I must remember to tell Uncle about that. Other days still I know that he is gone because I open the door to his home and do not hear his cheery voice calling out ‘hello!’
I cannot stop trying to hear his voice again in my mind. One day I called his home, knowing he was already gone, thinking perhaps by some kind of magic I would still get to hear him say ‘Hello darling’. But I also can’t bring myself to watch old family videos yet, because there’s something overwhelming about the thought of hearing his voice, seeing him smiling, and making his corny jokes, when I know he is gone.
The year has brought him closer and farther away at the same time. Grief is strange tides of absence and presence, that pull me towards photos and recordings of him and draw out more tears because this is all that is left of his warm, comforting presence.
All I can say, one year along, is that I wish you were not gone. You were always needed here and you still are.
Remembering Robin 