Sundays are special days for me. They are the day when I always take the time to sit with you, my love. Remembering all that was our life.
Sundays are hard days for me. Because they remind me of your suffering. And they remind me of all that we lost. Our future that was ripped from us.
Sundays are the days when I feel so deeply connected and close to you. And yet, at the same time, my yearning for you increases in ways that I cannot express.
Now that it is spring, I sit outside. The rays of the sun warming my skin. I try to imagine that you are sitting next to me. Sharing this beautiful day with me.
But you are not.
I frantically search for any sign that you might send me, begging you to let me know that you are still around me. With me. Somehow.
My eyes look up to the sky. Where a hawk is circling around right above our house. Close. So close. Once, twice, three times. Exactly at the time when you took your last breath and your heart stopped beating. You?
My eyes are drawn down.
A shadow heart painted against the red wooden boards of our porch. A silhouetted reminder of our love.
Love fills my heart and soul.
Thank you, my love, for sending me your heart.