The night she died, the sky danced with the most beautiful and vivid northern lights that I'd ever seen. I can close my eyes and still I see them. The colours swirled erratically, and the frost-covered grass reflected that brilliant light back up so it seemed as if I was looking through a stained-glass window to a different world; something about mine had changed and I'd never quite see it the same way again. And so I haven't. I sat alone under the stars, smoking way too many cigarettes, desperately trying to find some sense in all this. Later, many of her friends and family said it was her way of saying goodbye. Whether caused by science or spirit, it was healing.

I held her hand, kissed her forehead and whispered goodbye, but I didn't mean it. I still couldn't accept it.

The past few months I've been gone, I've been quietly attempting to wrestle with grief. I've struggled to smile, to learn, and to let go.

And, I'm back. I've missed you.