It's been a year.

Mike died on the Day of the Dead, when the veil between the living and the departed is thinnest.

I learned everything I know about Day of the Dead from watching Coco. Mike didn’t care for animated films, but I love them.

He’s gone, but is always with me. Anticipating November 2 was harder than getting through it. Friends and family reached out. I had a Market Burger – his favorite – for dinner.

The day concluded with a Taizé service, this one honoring those we’ve lost this past year. Too many are missing.

But they were there.

I wrote about Mike’s orange hat in June. As the first anniversary of his death approaches, here’s an update on its whereabouts now.

Many of you have suggested that he’s always with me. I know that’s true, and I’ve made sure of it, symbolically. Every time I hit the road, he’s with me. 

Well, his hat is, anyway.

A month ago, I thought I was handling this grief thing pretty well. I know there aren’t any rules. Anything goes. Everything’s right.

This month has been tough. Rough. Hard. 

I know he’s gone. 

But I want him – not just his hat.