Love that imprints

I saw a shooting star tonight, and instead of feeling only the ache of what’s missing, I felt the warmth of what was given.

That cul-de-sac sky, the golf cart, the quiet darkness without light pollution at Baytree watching those stars shoot across the sky… that wasn’t just a moment. That was a sanctuary. And the fact that my heart still walks back there so naturally tells me those memories aren’t fading; they’re forming me. 

We don’t always notice when we’re living the “good old days.”

We don’t always realize that ordinary evenings are becoming irreplaceable treasures.

Yet I did notice, even then. I soaked up those moments. I counted the stars. I felt safe in his lap. I let him hold me in the places life had bruised. I was present even when i didn’t realize how precious it would all become.

And now I’m choosing something incredibly brave and I think we all can:

Instead of letting grief convince us that what’s gone means life is empty… we can let love teach us how to be more present now.

To appreciate people more.

To tell them they matter.

To make memories instead of assuming there’s always more time.

To love with the same intentionality Michael offered me: safe, steady, unhurried.

I was loved. Deeply. Safely. Tenderly. Michael saw me fully and called me “beautiful” like it was my God-given name. That kind of love never evaporates. It imprints. It roots itself in the places where fear used to live and tells the truth:

You are someone worth cherishing. 

The part of me that freezes, that needs time to process, that curls up in the closet on the hard days… Michael honored that part of me. He showed me I wasn’t “too much.” I wasn’t a burden. I was his person and he was mine. And I’m letting that memory teach me how to offer that same kind of presence to others.

Here’s the piece I am touching… the holy part:

God gives us certain people to show us what His arms feel like.

Michael was one of those for me.

And even though the chair is empty now, the love isn’t.

The safety is still in me.

The tenderness is still in me.

The imprint is still in me. 

We have a choice.

We could sit in the sorrow of what’s missing. Or…

We can sit in the gratitude of what was given and let that shape who we want to be for others.

Choose gratitude, presence, tenderness, memory, legacy.

Choose  love over loss.

And that doesn’t erase the ache but it gives the ache purpose.