Jean and Roby at Ecola State Park in Oregon. Circa 1989.
It is incomprehensible to me that Roby died 18 years ago. I didn't know how I would make it through those first minutes, hours, days, months. The years pass and I never forget, but I do have access to all the good things about him, all the good times we had. I've never had a day when I woke up and thought about calling him before I remembered that he was gone. I've never accidentally dialed the phone to call him before realizing. It is always there, in my blood, in the skin and bones of who I am as a human being. But again, so is all the goodness, all the humor, all the laughter, the great stories, the dumb things we did because we were young. All of that is woven into me. I'm so glad to have known him. I'm so glad to feel confident that he knew how much I loved him and how much love he brought to me in his short life. I know that he knew that before he died. I know he felt me with him until and after his last breath. I know that he knows I remember him every day. What else could I really ask for?