Jill‘s been gone one year today.
The only reason the pickled watermelon rind she sent Phil last year isn’t in there any longer is because while we were out of town one weekend, our power went out for a few days and when we returned, we had to throw everything away. I held it in my hand, hesitating. I thought about emptying the contents and keeping the jar. Then I thought Jill’d think I was stupid, so I threw it away.
The only reason the video of her that was recorded on my phone just a few days before she died isn’t there any longer is because my phone broke and the video couldn’t be recovered. It’s the same reason her phone number isn’t programmed in there, too.
Jill’s blog is still here. I pretty much have the few entries she posted memorized.
Her email address is still in my contacts. Sometimes, I want to email her and tell her things.
She’s still so much a part of my life. Pink ribbons don’t give me some feeling of achievement. They don’t make me feel like I’m doing something or saying something or raising awareness for something. The make me hate breast cancer and death and they make me miss Jill. I hate those freaking pink ribbons. There. I said it.
I had a weird dream this morning, I know one part of it was her trying to make me laugh. We have a private little joke about black licorice.