Sometimes I'm just flabbergasted by the speed of thoughts, of tears, of laughter, of words, of images, of affection. And then I grow melancholy. I grow melancholy because I fear my lack of love; I grow melancholy as I realize what treasures await us each gracious moment, and how just as quickly as they are revealed they are buried again. I grow melancholy when I think of things I wanted to say, or should have said, or shared, or prayed, or written.
But, there is joy in all of these things, and ever new delights are given to us: in the people we are given to love and honor, in the merciful hum of each new day dawning, in the dance of light and white dots of night, in the feeding of birds and of the throwing of snow, in cards and calls of 'this is the good I see in you, that God is drawing out of you', in the 'knowing' that is made possible among close friends, of how and why one is feeling.
Oh, to live in gratitude for these things, and not to mourn unduly the loss of what we were given for just a short time. But to celebrate it, and to celebrate the legacies we leave each other.