Bill was buried this morning in the stillness of lingering thoughts, prayers and a memory that cannot fully conceive of the loss.  What can I say?  My stomach was tied in knots as I entered the graveyard, but I was immediately greeted with love from Bill’s family.  They may never understand what a gift it was to be received by them so graciously.  And what a gift it was to be able to finally say goodbye.  

When Bill died, an energy of such magnitude slipped into some invisible plane and the rush of time wavering in all directions outward from the intersection of where his last breath was drawn in, to our childhood in Elk Rapids, to the brief moment when I knelt down and felt the granite headstone firmly planted in the earth.  I’ve never known such sorrow, I’ve never been so humbled.  I’ve never needed love more and deserved it less.  I’ve never seen people come together and rise above the anger, the tragedy.  The same strength Bill revered in his family is holding them together.  

I miss him.  My mom said he was one of those people who leaves an impression on your heart. Bill’s aunt said at the service, “If love alone could have saved him, he’d still be here.”  And in a way, this love keeps him with us still.