I know I’ve sometimes used this goal to talk about missing friends and family, but it’s always been mostly about Jay, about finding a balance between cherishing his memory and letting go of the loss. I’ve been thinking a lot about this since his anniversary a couple weeks ago, and I’ve come to the conclusion that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, or acting or feeling as if it never happened; to me it’s about acceptance, about not grieving in a way that’s no longer healthy and not hankering after might-have-beens.

On his anniversary I went through all the letters and photos and the little things of his I’ve kept. I cried some, smiled some, laughed once or twice. The love we had for each other, and the fun we had together, shines so brightly from those letters, and it felt good to immerse myself in it for a little while; it felt even better to realise that I was acknowledging his memory’s place in my life without longing to go back to that time. It didn’t feel like my life is any less than it might have been, just different.

And, of course, I got the tattoo I’ve been wanting for years, copied from his, and it felt absolutely right. It’s meaningful in three different ways: as a permanent memento of him and of the profound effect that both loving and losing him had on my life; as a reminder of the person I was then, ready to follow my heart and count the world well lost for love; and as a symbol of overcoming grief and integrating the remembered happiness and the lessons I’ve learned into the person I am now.

Tonight I’m going to the Remembrance Ceremony I attend every year, and taking this mindset with me – not to grieve but just to remember and share that remembrance with others who’ve experienced something similar. It’s a good place to be.