Before Colin died, he and Pip were together for more than forty years. Every day during that time, he was sure to tell Pip that he loved her.

It's really difficult to understand the depth of that kind of loss. I've been alive for less time than they spent together. How can I come anywhere near to understanding it?

There's a wedding reading taken from Louis de Bernier's Captain Corelli's Mandolin that ends with the sentence, "Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two." Losing a long-term partner is the loss of your other half, and it can be brutal. Doris Wolf's German language short story "Zwei Bäume im Park" describes it like this (translation by Google):

"He feels naked and helpless. Only now does he realize that he had been protected by the other tree all these years. He notices that he is less developed on the side that was facing the other tree. The branches are shorter and less densely covered with leaves. He must even be careful not to lean too much to the other side and fall over. The wind blows harshly into his weak side."

It's really tough, and we should be especially mindful of people in this situation. Not only do they deserve a lot of support, but they have a lot to teach us, because they know a great deal about the true meaning of resilience.

I've tried to incorporate Colin into this piece in several ways. Pip really wanted to be reminded of all the happy times that they shared together, so I was careful to keep the overall tone positive. (It can't be said often enough: grief is not always about feeling sad). I incorporated the rhythm of the title "he told me he loved me every day for forty years" into the main melody. I gave the note C a prominent place in the piece: it's in the mode of D mixolydian, which is a fairly happy key but where the note C has a fascinating and appealing sound. It occurs in many places, the first of which is at 0:03. Finally, my artist partner Anna Salzmann created some artwork that reflected Colin's love for the mountains.

This is a piece for Pip but it's also a piece for anyone who has lost a long-term partner. Doris Wolf's story concludes:

"…the idea occurred to him that next spring he might try hard to grow the branches on his weak side. He could try to fill the empty spaces that his neighbor had filled with their branches. He now had more space to spread out. He no longer had to be considerate and had food for two. So he began to devote all his energies to gradually filling the void left by his neighbor. Very carefully he let new branches grow. It took time, but he had time. And sometimes he was even a little proud of fighting the cold and the winds alone. He knew that things would never be the same again, but if the neighbor came again now, or even a new neighbor, he wouldn't have as much space as he used to. He knew one thing for sure. He would never forget his old neighbor because he had spent the first 50 years with them. He was able to tell shared stories about each year. Regarding the last three years, he was able to tell us how he learned to live alone, gave his branches a new direction and redesigned his place in the park."

If you'd like me to write a piece for your late partner, don't hesitate to ask. You can find out more about the project here: garrethbrooke.com/elegies