Just home from an event called Conversing with the Dead at a local bookstore, I put my new books on the top of the chest of drawers in the dining room, then the pretty polished river rock I took from the little basket of rocks they had out with a little card. "Rocks represent strength, stability, and endurance. Please take one home to enjoy!" Stephen puts his rock next to mine and we compare.
At that same table at the bookstore with the rocks were little cards and pens, and we were encouraged to write notes for loved ones we've lost. Stephen brings his out of his pocket. It's a lovely message for a recently lost friend. He asks to see mine and I bring it out, explaining that I didn't so much make a message as a list. In the moment, at the bookstore, I hadn't known who to pick. There are too many. Especially from the last five years.
I smooth my list out against my palm. It starts:
[a little heart]
Kat
[a little heart]
Mara
Stephen says, "You even have a dog on there."
"Three," I say, and point them out and say their names.
I realize with a little jolt that I missed someone. Well I couldn't have included everyone, of course, especially with dogs in the mix, but this was a special someone.
How could I have missed them?
It hurts my heart.
There are just too many.
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