It takes its own pace and path.

There are long bends in the road where you lose sight of it. But whether when you least expect it, or when you see and dread its coming, grief always returns, topping a hill or rounding a curve. You never really shake it.

Maybe if life is full and you move fast you’ll outrun it for a good while.

Three years ago today I suddenly and unexpectedly lost the best friend I’ve ever had in this life, aside from the one I married.  He was killed in a freak accident just steps from his home in Washington, DC. 

A neighbor found him - did everything he could - but Ben was gone.

I knew as soon as I got the call. The odd time of the morning. The odd person, a friend but not one who’s likely to ring for an early A.M. chat.  Another friend in common calling on the other line at the same time.

I knew what it had to be, who it had to be.

Three years gone, it hits me harder this time. So much of remembering him comes from seeing things that make me want to call and talk and share. Usually it’s a book or a movie or a record, something I’m sure he’d love.

This time. This year, it’s my new son. One more thing I’m sure he’d love.