It is 12 months since the indescribable horror of that Saturday afternoon when Kirstin was ripped from us. As much as she was reborn into eternity, so were we. Stripped of all silly earthly distractions, we stood hurt and angry in our raw grief before the God who had claimed her back. None of us that day could imagine or concieve that we would ever laugh again, or return to any semblance of normality. Or if we even wanted to. Looking back now, in a way we did and we didn't.
Over the past year, we worked, relaxed, shared family gatherings, enjoyed holidays, celebrated birthdays, Christmas and Easter and lived some crazy moments. The context, though, had been changed by that moment, on the 5th July 2008, irrevocably. All that we have lived has been tinged with the loss of a part of us that has gone. Kirstin has been missed in the quiet hours and in the loud and joyful ones. Her absence hurts - still. But in that strange and paradoxical way of love, it has immeasurably deepened our capacity for intimacy with each other. We still laugh and joke and fight amongst ourselves, but she taught us, in a way we would not otherwise have learned, that we could lose each other in the space of a heartbeat, a single breath. Everything is still outwardly much the same, Kirstin: the sun still rises and sets here without you, we still get angry and irritated in the traffic. But we are not unchanged. You diminshed us by your leaving and yet you enrich us by your continued absence. You teach us that Love transcends death - not only for you but for each other. You taught us how much we love you. You teach us everyday anew now, that we are loved and equally importantly, you teach us to love. Rest in peace with Him, Kirst. We have lost you, but only for a little while.
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