I remember you like yesterday

Dear Margo,

It’s been a full year since you left this mortal coil so unexpectedly and suddenly.

A year without you.

A year without your cheery waves as I drove by on one of your many miles of walks. A year without those wonderful hugs and sweet hellos. A year without you forgetting things behind at church meetings and wondering where in the world you put your brain. A year without your passion for teachers who had to buy their own supplies and those in our community still are learning English and just about every outreach project ever created by the community at large. A year without your compassion for every one of your students, co-workers, community members and friends. A year without your quiet encouragement to keep writing and keep going, even when I felt like I just wasn’t reaching anyone, because you were one who believed in me.

But yet, your legacy lives on. Three lives were saved from the donation of your organs and others were inspired by it to possibly do the same (I know I checked to make sure I was on the registry!). There’s a scholarship that bears your name that has helped students achieve their dreams of post-graduate studies. There is at least one new little one in the community that also carries your name. And your presence is just as large today as it was a year ago, even if you are not here.

But the grief is still very real. It’s rough. It sneaks up on us when we least expect it. It strangles us in its hold, wrecking us, dashing us upon the rocks of anguish, of sorrow, of pain. And if it’s hard for me, who only loved you as a friend, I can’t even imagine how those in your inner circle, your most intimate of family can bear it sometimes.

But in those moments, I know you loved all of us, more so than I can even imagine. I have tried in turn to exude that love to those who need it the most. I find the hope in embers, peace in the stillness, and joy in the moments, quietly wearing a bracelet from your funeral as a reminder to do so (although I will admit I keep having to ask your daughter for more bracelets… since, well, I am as forgetful with personal belongings as you are!) I continue to find the magic and continue to write my own story. Because that would be the most Margo-like thing to do.

Miss you. Love you.

Love,

Kelley

AKA K. S. Wood

**The title of this post comes from a line of the Switchfoot song Yesterdays. Stay magical, friends. And write your own story.**

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