Love

Tonight's post isn't about mountain biking or running or racing. It isn't about gear or athletic mentalities. It isn't about stuff I've learned or done.

I am missing Robert and Joyce tonight and just wanted to say so.

I miss my sister. She died nine years ago but it doesn't feel that long. I still imagine that she's close by, the way I always felt. But then she's not. I miss her poking fun at me. I miss her simplicity. I miss her playfulness, her lack of interest in embarrassment. I miss seeing her love the children she taught. I miss her face and the thousands of looks in her eyes.

She knew I loved her but that is still the only thing I want to tell her.

I miss Robert. He died five years ago but it feels so much longer. I don't know how I could have felt so much missing in only five years. I miss his laugh. I miss us making each other laugh. I miss his stories and his asking for stories. I miss his mock exasperation. I miss his love of the silly random mental fireworks and fizzles that human civilization spews on occasion. I miss his music. I miss us putting our arms around and hugging each other.

I loved him with all my heart, and he loved me, and that bond was as certain as the core of the earth, and everybody who knew us knew that. I would tell him that now, if we could stop laughing.

There are people you love. Tell them.

Don't worry that it will get old. Don't think it will lose its meaning. Don't worry that they will lay claim to you. Don't worry what they will read into it. Love them. Don't categorize people into less than loved. Love your acquaintances. Love your friends. Love things about them. Find a way to tell them, in words, out loud.

Not for fear of regret someday. The love we give is the only real thing we carry around. In loss it's the only thing we keep. It's why loss feels so heavy. We're looking for a place to put our love.

So maybe if we practice giving it away lightly, that will help. Maybe we should just love a lot. Maybe that is what we can do while we are missing each other.