Tears welled as I flipped through the others. I kept all of them, filing them in my backpack. In Missoula they serve as permanent reminders of previously forgotten memories. Mission accomplished, I curled up under Shannie's blankets and drifted into a restful sleep.
***
As the world made last minute preparations for Y2K and Diane and my father made last minute preparations for their wedding, I slipped away to visit Shannie. It was her birthday and I had a special gift for her. A light snow fell as I made my way through Laurel Hill. I almost expected to see Shannie sitting atop her headstone, doodling in her sketchpad.
At her headstone, I closed my eyes. If I didn't read it this entire nightmare might end and when I awoke, Shannie would be lying in my arms. I'm unsure how long I stood like this, swaying like another tree in the breeze.
There was no waking from this nightmare. A single snowflake told me so as it slid down the front of her headstone and crashed to the ground. Countless others rested atop her headstone. I watched the flakes accumulate like memories. When I grew tired of watching, I ran a hand over the smooth granite, wiping away heaven's frozen tears.
A breeze rustled the trees; their bare limbs swaying to the sound of her voice. I turned quickly, praying she would be sitting on the sandstone bench, like she was thirteen years ago - Indian Style, her wild mane speckled with snow flakes. I imagine her gaze staring across the dozing river, past the distant rushing traffic, into eternity. Only snow, dusted atop the bench met my gaze.
"Happy Birthday Bug," I whispered. "I have a surprise. It's your favorite." Careful not to spill a drop, I poured the steaming coffee on the ground in front of her stone. "How did you guess?" I watched the snow evaporate. "Yes, you're right. Of course I remembered. How could I forget? " I tell her.
"If eyes are the gateway to the soul," she wrote after my accident. "Our memories are its gatekeepers. Out of memory comes ritual. Out of ritual - meaning, out of meaning - warmth, out of warmth - love, out of love."
"Us." I whispered to the wind. "Beyond anyone - I remember you!"
"I didn't forget," I stroked the polished granite's face. "It's your recipe," I confided as I placed a mud pie atop the coffee soaked soil. I retreated to the bench and sat casting my gaze out over the sleepy river and past the rushing traffic, listening for the echoes of her laughter in the wind.