Ecclesiastes 3

1 To everything there is a season,
      A time for every purpose under heaven:
2 A time to be born,
      And a time to die;
   A time to plant,
      And a time to pluck what is planted;
3 A time to kill,
      And a time to heal;
   A time to break down,
      And a time to build up;
4 A time to weep,
      And a time to laugh;
   A time to mourn,
      And a time to dance;
5 A time to cast away stones,
      And a time to gather stones;
    A time to embrace,
      And a time to refrain from embracing;
6 A time to gain,
      And a time to lose;
   A time to keep,
      And a time to throw away;
7 A time to tear,
      And a time to sew;
   A time to keep silence,
      And a time to speak;
8 A time to love,
      And a time to hate;
   A time of war,
      And a time of peace.

It’s been almost one year since Matt died in a helicopter crash in Nepal.  This time last year we were sending messages back and forth discussing if we would have time to meet in New York as I was heading back to France and he would be returning to DC.   He was sure that his jet lag would make it impossible, I was sure that I could cajole just a few hours in transit to greet each other.  To hold his ear, to slap his shoulder, to smile at his thoughts.

But the last year has been good for me too.  I’ve reflected and expanded.  New city, new job, new friends, new home.  And old friends, rediscovering things from old homes, times I’ve felt old.

One new friend told me that there is a twitch in my smile that makes him think I know something.  Another told me my eyes have sorrow.  I think we see what we want to see.  Or what we need to see.  Or what we expect to see.

This year has been my time to weep and laugh.  To reap and then sow.  I’ve danced and celebrated, and thrown away.  As any year.  Like every year.

And I miss him.  Today, and every day.  Like any day.