Part of my weekly ritual on Saturday mornings is to teach my indoor cycle class, visit Josh and write a letter to him. This is what I wrote yesterday:
We are now in March - the month in which events occurred that led to your death. How I wish....long... no that is not strong enough...I would give my life, and I mean it, to go back to that time, a "do-over", do things differently, ask more questions, probe, intervene, SOMETHING so that you would still be here...alive...with us. Instead, I sit here in the car, after finishing my little housekeeping chores at your gravesite, looking at the chimes on "your" tree, (for we have really taken it over), and writing. This is my time to "visit" you.
I received some new pictures of you in the mail. In one, you were probably 9 or 10 years old, smiling broadly at the camera with your hand up, saying "hi". My heart stopped for a millisecond when I saw it. You looked so happy. I kissed the picture and put my hand up to match yours, palm-to-palm.
We are preparing for the marathon fundraiser - 2 weeks from today and the bar fundraiser - 10 days from today! I have shared about you and what we are doing with my aerobics classes, without tears. But I cry now. For you. For what is lost. For what could be that never will be. Tears of regret, more than of sheer grief and pain.
I can tell you, Josh, that you are still in the hearts of so many of your friends and their families. They have not forgotten. I hope you are at peace.