I sit with my sadness. I let my tears flow. I wail.

I own my anger. I am mad and say so—hoping to transcend it.

I acknowledge others’ pain. I am not alone. I fill with compassion.

I call out his name: Fire! Fire! Fire! I feel his presence and hear him say, “I’m here, Icey. I’m here!”

I read his letters and remember. Joy—his, mine, ours. I return to the love. The love remains.