Our Ninth December

The night before our ninth December, we had our first market in two years. People came into the studio and, even if they didn't know it, became a part of how I love you. They said your name, they listened to your story, and they took home pieces of you. Some familiar faces shared that they were so glad to see us back. It feels good to be back. You are out in the world, my love, even though you were only in my arms.

I spent months and hours pouring my love and my heartbreak into jars and tins and molds. Changing recipes and testing products. Designing labels and wrapping soaps and lotions and salves. Moving into a new studio and making it home. Walking steadily toward December.

And this morning, I met December at the door. I let her in because I have to. I let her in because even at its worst, this grief is what I have of you.

December is always heavy. It is always hard to carry. Yesterday, friends and strangers carried you with me, and I'm reminded of all the love. And still, in December, most of all, I hold on tightly to the love.