The unveiling was hard. The unveiling was nicely done. After the unveiling I felt doubly sad-as if the band-aid was pulled off the wound (as a friend of mine so aptly put it). It reminded me of what I was missing especially as family and friends spoke about Bruce and what they remembered about him. Someone said he was generous, someone else how he did not ever hold a grudge. I cried a bit, little leaky tears as the prayers were said over the gravestone.
I look back and remember how numb I was - how surprised I was by his death. Now how overwhelmed I am by his absence. How is it possible to miss someone so much? And not be able to tell the person you told everything to, how sad you are? He was the one that I complained to, and I would have complained to him about the loss.
I looked at his name on the stone and his name shimmered. Like him. He was a star in a crowd, often singled out on the street because he looked so dapper. People would stop him and compliment him on his matching socks and Hawaiian shirt. Right before he died, he was pretty thin and so proud of himself, that he practically lit up with glee. Sunday, his gravestone twinkled. It matched who he was in life.
The rabbi said that this was the end of the mourning period but I am not sure that it means anything to me. Mourning Bruce will take a long time. I am beginning to realize that his loss will be something I carry with me, maybe forever.