The pain of his loss is not as sharp as it was in the beginning. However, my mind still does not fully comprehend that he is gone. There is a gap in understanding. Perhaps time will knit that understanding together again, but I don't think one can truly heal from this kind of pain. But then again, he's only been gone five months. I suppose all things change, especially one's mind.
Last week, I sat down at a tattoo parlor and marked the occasion of his death with a symbol of his goodness: a single feather tied around my wrist. In October, I wrote about my brother's dream catchers. He used to make them for friends, family members and every newborn that entered his sphere. Each feather was a prayer, a good vibe, a lovely thought meant to blow in the breeze and bless all sentient beings. His goodwill, love and peaceful energy are contained in the many dream catchers he made and gave away. And now, I have a daily reminder of his goodness tied to my wrist where he can hold my hand, feel my pulse, and move forward with me.
Time will not heal this wound.
But the pain is mine to hold, imbibe and transform.
What will it become?