On New Years Eve, there was a full moon. I remember sitting on Mum and Dad’s deck, looking at it, soaking it in, thinking about our deck in Rocky and the number of times we had sat out there and watched the moon come up over the mountains.
I was thinking of Frith and wondered if he was thinking of me too. We had been texting during the evening. Just fun, silly stuff. He was sending me photos of him and our friends, I was telling him about the very adult conversations I was having with my parents and their neighbours.
I looked at the moon and went to bed just after midnight.
Frith left this world early the next morning, probably while the full moon was still up. At the start of each month, as another full moon rises and casts light over the bay, I breathe it in. I see Frith in it’s beauty; it’s magic; it’s stillness; in it’s peace.
Four months on, I realise that a full moon will now always remind me of him. I picture him holding it in his hands, as I hold him in my heart.