You hear stories all your life about how a loved one’s death backs up on you at the strangest times, but it’s not until you’re picking out mustard in the condiments aisle in the supermarket and realizing you need to find a place where you can explode into tears that there is stark truth in that.
This was me, just moments ago. Music piped in as I shopped, suddenly I heard the lyrics “… Where do you go when you’re lonely? Where do you go when you’re blue? Where do you go when you’re lonely? I’ll follow you, when the stars go blue …”
Kevin loved this video so much he sat down at my desk one day and called it up on my computer so he could share it. Since his passing in March I’ve only watched it once, but watching it again just now I could feel his presence.
There has been so much emotion pent up in me these last two weeks. Hurricane Sandy required so many of us to think about the safety and survival of ourselves and loved ones first. Feeling had to be put off, so as to keep moving, staying informed, checking up on others.
But in spots I thought of Kevin. I miss him so much and at a time like this he would have lent a kind of pointed perspective to the hard stuff. He had a way of seeing the softness around the edges and adored exploring the spiritual side of things.
During last year’s hurricane while I was at my parents’ house about to move into our vacation home at the Jersey Shore, Kevin and I kept in email contact and it soothed me quite a bit. He had set up a generator for his parents, his father listening to Pavarotti and his mother to the radio. Kevin was reading by candlelight — “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chodron, a book I had given him.
During this hurricane and its aftermath, so much more intense and damaging, I keep wondering why he isn’t here to soothe it away. Then, Gulden’s in hand, I hear the song.
“I’ll follow you, follow you, follow you …”
He’s here after all. Oh, thank God.