Each night before bed, I go outside and look for the moon and stars.  Living in a smaller city, we’re fortunate that we can enjoy the night sky without the meddlesome radiant lighting from tall buildings and businesses.  Having grown up in suburban Philadelphia, a beautiful night sky is a treat for me; one that I will never tire of.

This evening, I wandered outside and felt a strong breeze.  A warm, balmy, spring breeze that rustled the leaves.  The air smells of spring-y goodness, a combination of rain and earth.  The peepers (frogs) are in their peeper hiding places singing their lullabies.

Since December, whenever I go outside to look for the stars, I take a moment and think “which one is Kate?”  Would Kate be the brightest star in the sky or the star that wasn’t as strong as the others but twinkled, instead?  I lean towards the twinkling as Kate was never one to demand a lot of attention and did not care much for showboats and peacocks.

I grab the star charm on my bracelet, the one engraved with her initials, and a combination of sorrow and joy wraps itself around me like a fluffy blanket.  Thinking about our friendship is bittersweet as the wound that is her loss is still all too fresh.  The memories, fortunately, are so dear that they can manage to make me smile when I really want to cry.

On a balmy, breezy, spring night in The South, I think of how much Kate would be enjoying the weather.  How much she relished the arrival of spring.  How alive she felt after a long, dreary winter.  How delighted the most simple things would make her – like riding around with the windows down or falling asleep with windows open and the sound of rain pattering outside.

While Kate is merely a star in my sky, I am able to shuffle off to bed knowing she’s still near me and still a presence.  It’s not what I would ultimately like but I’m happy with what I have.