Two Years Later

This year, Raz and I are spending the second anniversary of my dad's death in Hawaii - the place I decided to call him Kouka decades ago now. Last year, I wrote that the missing him feeling will be a long journey. That's still true.

But, in true Kouka fashion, it's become very clear what a difference a year makes. I've worked hard to believe he's still with me - even when all I want is a hug, even when I want to feel resentful, even when I wonder "What if?" Because the reality is he won't ever be physically here again. I do know, though, in every inch of my (very full) heart, he is here in every capacity he can be - circling us as a bald eagle, following us along the beaches of Maui as a humpback whale, sunning himself as a yellow pussy cat in Tahiti, appearing as a shot of white light. 

Our photographer shared this photo of me dancing on my wedding day - a day, as you know, I wondered how he'd show up. She said she's never seen anything like this in her career as a photographer, hundreds of weddings later. 

Raz noticed the rainbow is coming out of my heart. How cool is that?

She shared the photo on Facebook and Instagram, too (search Andria Lindquist on both platforms). The below Instagram comments are exactly what I hoped our story could give someone else. 

All I've ever wanted was for my story to help someone. This gives me hope it has. When we planned our trip here for our friends' wedding, I didn't think about my dad's deathiversary. And now there's a cute irony to it. A moment of celebration for new beginnings and long-lasting love in a place so truly spiritual, I know I will find him here, too. And he will bless them, just like he did us. Onward we go missing and living in him the best we know how.  So mahalo for love, romantic or otherwise. And follow our time here - #matsumeier and me, @whitpopa.  Photos courtesy of Andria Lindquist.