I thought about you. I thought about how a year ago today you were alive, about how a year ago today was your last day here. You didn’t know it. I didn’t know it.
I can’t stop thinking about this day last year. A day where you sent me an e-mail to tell me you loved me, a day where you went on as though you had all the time in the world.
In your apartment in Costa Rica after the funeral, Jose told me that you didn’t sleep well this night last year. He told me you skyped and told him you were tired – had to get up early to run the river.
One year. It’s been one year since I’ve heard your voice or laugh. It’s been one year of thinking about you daily, trying to accept the unacceptable. It’s been one of the most difficult and inspiring years of my life. Your death has brought with it so many emotions, and closings and openings. Your death has taught me more than anyone’s life could.
A year ago today you were breathing … you were alive. A year ago today … I was also breathing but not alive. It was on the day you stopped breathing that I was awakened.
by 
