I wore a striped t-shirt and striped socks yesterday. Instead of looking for the small cowboy hat in a tree I grabbed my family and we went to a street-café, sitting outside in the sun and enjoying ice-cream for the first time this year. It was such a beautiful spring day yesterday. I thought of Heath while in the café, thinking this is already the second spring he is missing. And the second birthday
.
I'll go looking for the cowboy hat some time during the coming week, when I have some quiet time to myself.
Thank you John and Meryl, I'll comment on the other thread. And thank you everyone for sharing.
Strangely, I've been sadder and a little tearful the past few days thinking about Heath than I've ever been. Why is that? Maybe because I can remember my own 30th. I've never been a "fan" of any particular actor, ever. Never have been caught up in any form celebrity worship, except when I was a teen I worshiped Bowie. People die prematurely and unexpectedly everyday, and I feel sad for them and their families, but it can't compare with how I feel for Heath and his family and friends. I know I'm not alone in this, but still I just don't understand why this grief is present and still fresh after all this time. It makes me feel like I'm some weirdo.
I know the feeling. Sometimes I do, too. But you'e not.
