FIVE years - Another Love letter

Hello my darling,

Looking out my window, I see lots and lots of apartments. So many people live on top of each other here, and I grieve for them that none of them ever knew you. They don't know the colours of life that you brought into the world, nor the humour, nor the compassion.  How dull for them!

My eyes drift back into my little living space. I am predictably untidy still. I don't have to allow for trip hazards, as I can pick my way through the creative debris I leave about the place. There are bits and pieces from my last trips to Jamaica and the UK, sewing fancies and jewellery, leads and eye-glasses, ends and odds. The paintings and pictures fill the space with character and colour. 

The pink Kaurna (Adelaide-area) Aboriginal painting keeps my home centred and gives the sense of spiritual home-away-from-home, the Rod Pattendon 'toaster' painting of Nobby's headland in Newcastle, keeps family close, the tourist paintings of Cuba remind me to find music and fruit in the midst of tears, the photo of Ikara (Wilpena), where your ashes drift, give me the promise of homecoming one day, pictures of Spain and California prompt memories of adventures. My favourite photo, though, is the one of you and Cass. He has imitated your blue mohawk by gelling his hair straight up. It was taken in the kitchen in Hamilton when he was a toddler. You held his heart... and mine.

The boys will visit soon and I am looking forward to seeing them. We will do some of the things you would have taken them to. Exploring and adventuring is so much nicer shared. Much of my adventuring these days is on my own, so this will be a refreshing change. You are present and absent constant and surprising. You catch me unawares, even when I am looking for you.

I have two pretty thin fold out mattresses for the boys. I hope they cope! They are teens now and taller than me - can you believe that? We will lego theme the visit a bit. I know they are older, but you never really get too old for lego, do you? 

I often see things that prompt me to listen for your commentary. You were so opinionated and entertaining. Sometimes, as I am walking along, I find myself having a little giggle at your comment. I can still hear you, even if no-one else can. When I get tired, I can hear your encouragement. When I get lonely, I close my eyes and feel you close. When I gat sad, I remember your devotion. When I get isolated, I look at swing dancing and remember your lead.

I occasionally watch soccer or cricket without you. I suspect you keep yourself busy playing, rather than just watching. Incarnation suited you so well - I can't really imagine you as disembodied. I suspect that teaches me something about thinking about the concept of Heaven. God liked creation and said it was good - and the whole thing with people was very good. Yes - I think there will be some kind of embodiment to come. We may be spiritual beings, but there is more, isn't there.

Life is filled with travel and projects, but much of it feels like waiting for you and what is yet to come. I throw myself into the present, but eternity never feels far away - and then, again, it feels an eternity away. I have grown accustomed to missing you. Days like today may be a bit tearier, but many days have laughter and smiles.

What makes home are the quilts I have. The one Margaret made me to describe the Trinity is always close on the lounge. The one Vivianne made is in the heart of the living space, reminding me of supportive friends. The one Tony and Shirley passed on remains on my bed, cloaking me in prayer. My life is a bit like a quilt, made up of many pieces, put together in new ways, yet you remain the backing and the pattern. People rarely see you in ways they could name, but whenever they see me, they see your life in me.

Stay close, my love.

A