As we’ve reached the six month mark from his death, I can’t help wondering where Kody is now. The question can be answered many different ways. Physically, Kody is in a necklace around my neck, at a tree in Whidbey island, heading down the river on the Mountain Loop, out on the beach in Ocean Shores, and on an urn on a shelf in my house. He is also other places, physically where others keep his ashes.

Spiritually, it depends on the view. Perhaps Kody is in heaven looking down on us, or he’s reincarnated, trying another life on for size, or he’s part of the cosmic energy that exists for all the world to draw from. Maybe he got his wish and this time he’s part of a rock in one of the most beautiful places in the world just watching and relaxing, taking life extra slow.

Over the months since he left this world, I have found Kody in many places. He is out in the forest among the trees, in the wind that rattles their leaves. He is in the slowly drifting snowflakes as they settle and blanket the ground. He is in the salty breeze that throws the waves against the sea shore. I can find him in cat fur, bubbles drifting on the wind, and Carnation instant breakfast commercials.

He is also in all the memories of those who knew him. In the minds of his niece and nephew who ran in the yard with him, swam in the river with him, and learned from him. In the hearts of family members who remember his quiet words and his gentle disposition. In the souls of the friends who laughed with him, cried with him, and shared with him.

Kody is all around us. I have but to close my eyes and feel him here. For me he is a growing warmth, that surrounds me with the familiar feeling of being tucked into one of his hugs. He is laughter upon the wind sharing the jokes of all the world. He is here in the crisp morning of a cool fall day, in the joy of waking up to snow upon the ground, and the soaking of the first rains of spring.

I told him, after he was gone, that I was not okay living in the world without him in it. He answered that he was with me always, “closer than breath.” And while that is true, the lack of him is still painful. It hurts not to see him, not to hear his voice and his laughter, not to physically exist in the same space. Closer than breath still feels so far away.