Floating

I see myself with elongated arms, like a stretchy Gumby doll, thinner and thinner, trying to reach back to the past to when I could feel Ben with us.

Sometimes it all seems a dream and it’s not six years since we were with him last.

Not that I don’t miss him now. I do, every day; some days worse than others.

The feeling of a dream makes it bleaker and sadder in some ways—every day a reminder that while we move in one life-propelled direction, he doesn’t really move with us.

He floats somewhere out of reach, out of sight, out of earshot, a memory, which loses its sharp focus, with the passing time.