Remembering Jonathan

Two years have passed. Funny thing about time. Like a child, I'm not sure if two years is a blink of an eye, or a really long time. Maybe I've become a Buddhist. I feel like I'm in the moment most of the time these days. Jonathan is really near me, with me. I don't feel he's left. Maybe he's in the moment, too. With us all. I'd like to think Jonathan has taught that much to me these past two years. To be in the moment.
Maybe time doesn't pass. Nor do people. We are only in the moment.
In some ways, Jonathan is with me now more than ever before. Especially when I'm playing music. Music was so important to Jonathan, as it is to me, and when I tune in to that channel, somehow I feel his vibration. A reaching out to each other.
I play his guitar, a Gretch Silverjet. I haven't changed the strings on it yet. The same strings he played. His finger oils and vibrations resonate still in the wood. He was a great guitarist, and maybe my playing has improved just a tad because of those vibrations, perhaps another thing he has taught me these past two years.
The passage of time seems to mean less and less to me these past two years, since that rainy night on June 3rd. Like a child, sometimes time seems endless to me, and sometimes very fleeting. On a long day trip in England, our great granddaughter Megan kept asking, "Are we nearly there yet?"
Somehow I think Jonathan might know the answer to that question. I love you and miss you, Jonathan. Maybe you could whisper the answer in my ear.