It is said, by some, that when we think of the beloved who have departed from their earthly forms, their energy rushes through dimensions to embrace us. I am not the only one who has noticed the soft cocoon of her light.

“All is light.”

I keep thinking of her words before and after, as I imagine what she would say to me each time the labored hand of grief seizes reality.

Sometimes we laugh at my absurdity.

While chopping vegetables for dinner, I tell her I am “not happy.”

“I know,” I imagine her saying, but she is also smiling. We both know better.

“Well,” I tell her, “It’s simply not very fair. We had lots more adventures to go on.”

“Who says they’ve stopped?”

We laugh before I cry, again.

And there she is sitting beside my left shoulder, wrapped…