I’m not going to write about you tonight, Steve. This anniversary is different. If I could simply pick up the photo of you that sits in a copper frame on my bedside table and conjure up only the warmest, dog-eared memories, I would.
But there’s just too much static clouding the air between you and me. I can’t seem to get to you without having to walk across a minefield of memories: disturbing, violent details of your journey down the mountain, telling Ellie of your death, grief so strong it ripped the air from my lungs. So much darkness.
No, tonight–on what would have been our 39th anniversary–I can’t… I just can’t traverse all of that scorched earth to spend a few moments with you.
So please forgive me, but tonight I can’t write about you.