Today is the two-year anniversary of the day Clark died. Last night I had a cry thinking about how routine it was for me to crawl into his hospice bed every night, squish myself next to him and pull up the bars on the side to secure my place. At the time I didn’t conceive of how heartbreaking it was because I didn’t think outside of the single moment I lived in. I remember what it was like to feel his body so close to mine, to listen to him breathing, to feel my worry taper off when a new breath followed the one before it, to eventually fall asleep with my left arm draped across his distended belly. He is more gone now than he ever has been. I miss him so much.
I saw Beirut on Tuesday, and it was one of the more magical evenings I’ve had in recent memory. I am very thankful to have been there. Lauren called me during sound check and held the phone up so I could hear “Elephant Gun” in its entirety as I walked down 14th St. It made me feel so lucky.
I am lucky that Clark set a standard against which I can hold others. It only leaves room for the best people – those who encourage and support me, those who make me laugh so hard and then tell me how much they love my laugh. The type of people who pick up the phone and call me when they hear my favorite song.