Especially Reserved for Andy

Just as these words on Andy’s toolbox say, there is still a place within me that is reserved for him. However, these days my grief is more of a gentle nostalgia than anything. There is no longing or pining, just sweet memories.

The sign is from Andy’s parking space when he worked for Oklahoma County. Before he started his medical retirement, he removed the sign from its post, and brought it home with him. It has been on the wall of the garage ever since.

I took it down a couple of weeks ago. The wall has needed to be replaced since the day I decided to drive the car part way though it, and that’s some of the remodeling work we’re having done. I’m still debating whether to put it back up, but I probably won’t. Right now it is sitting on top of his tool box that I’m keeping for John.

Lately there have been some gentle “signs” around me that I interpret to mean, “I’m glad you are happy, I love you still, and I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me.”

When this happens, I just whisper, “How could I ever forget?”

I dreamt of Andy last night for the first time in ages. The remarkable thing about the dream is it was completely unremarkable. We were simply getting ready to go on a two hour trip. He complained of a headache, I suggested he lay down until we had to leave, and I brought him some ibuprofen with water. That was the entire dream.

I guess it was necessary for me to go through the searing, turbulent, gut-wrenching grief to reach this point where my love for him feels like it did before; sweet, calm and peaceful. I’m now secure enough in his love to blow him a misty eyed kiss over my shoulder, and then sprint on ahead to take the hand of Arthur, the love of my present.