Today was a tough day. The calm after the concert last Sunday has settled in, and your absence has made itself felt once again. The quiet. The empty room, the photos, still all those reminders. The concert was a beautiful step forward, with so much love and support and mutual commitment to work and heal together. You would have loved some of the music, some not so much. That made me laugh a bit on Sunday, imagining you rolling your eyes at the “family friendly” music.
My dear Maya, I am determined to use your memory to make the world better, if only our little corner of it. I know you would want that. So I plod on. Today I finished the window, the new window I put in the side of our house, a physical and metaphorical way to bring in light. So much light. But the light goes both ways. It shines brightly, and fills my heart with love and makes our home a more beautiful place. And like all good things now, it is a reminder to me that you cannot enjoy it, that you are missing it, and the joy is diminished because of this. I wonder about that always. Will I ever really feel joy again? I suppose it is way too soon to know, just the very beginning of this journey, and I do know better than to try to map it out too much. I can only hope right now. Day by day, breath by breath…
Maya, I want you to know that I take the work of our Foundation very seriously. I know you would too. And it too is tinged with loss, each action filtered through the lens of your idealism, your altruism, and your vision. I know you would be proud of the help we are providing in Nepal already, and I strive to continue this good work in your memory. I hope you can continue to guide me as I learn and grow. I wanted to tell you something hopeful that happened last week. I was at a meeting with some strangers.. I was asked to introduce myself with something new I am learning now. I volunteered that I was learning how to run a 501c3 charity. Not a big deal on it’s face, but it was huge for me Maya, Huge in that I publically acknowledged the loss, on my own initiative. I realized something else. Since October 2, I have not once told anyone what happened. Everyone I work with or see on the street who knows me knows this story. I have not had to explain anything. It is just part of who I am now. But in this meeting, with some new people, I actually offered to share this part of me. It just came forth naturally, with some trepidation, but a sense that it was time. Time to embrace this new truth, to honor it, to own it and move forward.
Love you my little one, miss you,
Tom Chapin, Kim and Reggie Harris