time does not heal, it makes a half-stitched scar that can be broken and again you feel grief as total as in its first hour.

- elizabeth jennings

9 weeks. miss you and love you, dan haubert.

we pray for your mercy for those who have killed themselves. we know not their fears, and we thus fear they died alone. they are now yours: in that is our comfort. comfort all who love them and who will miss their presence. -- stanley hauerwas

Up until 3 weeks ago, I was counting down to today.

Yesterday I should have been cleaning my apartment. I should have a few extra bottles of wine and a fridge stocked with Fat Tire. I wasn't supposed to be dreading today all week. It was supposed to be a week full of planning another epic weekend on the West coast. Dan was to land in San Francisco around 4 today. It would mean that today would be one of the longest days at work, but when it was done, I would finally get to see my Dan.

Now, I don't want the day to start. It will be filled with patients I don't want to listen to, because I'll be consumed by the thoughts of "what if",  "if only", and confusion over how this could really have happened. Part of me wants to drive up to the city just to make sure he's not on that plane, but instead I'll run until I can't and try to wrap my head around this tragic reality. Every day has brought a new challenge, but today will be a new kind of struggle. I hope you are at my side today, Dan. I'll focus on all the good memories we had, so grateful we have so many, but I'll know that today is just another good bye.

I'll keep putting one foot in front of the other... I love you and I miss you so much it hurts, Daniel.