Another day. 24 more hours. I keep breathing & living through the pain. I remember how you & I used to wonder what changes we'd see in our lifetimes, always assuming you'd see things that I wouldn't, with that being the natural course of events in life. It wounds me to know that I will now see new things that you won't. That things will change that we should have seen & discussed together & now you will be the silent half of that conversation. I'll never get to know what you think about anything again.
I used to feel like I didn't have enough years left in my life to make a difference, to do all of the things I wanted to do.. Now those years seem vast, knowing you won't be in them. I know I'll survive, I know in time the pain won't be as fresh, as sharp, as overwhelming, I hope, too, that the thought of my remaining years, spent without one of my kids won't be so panic-causing with enough time & healing.
For now, dad & I accept that we will never be the people we were before 1:47pm on May 8, 2015, but we are still here & we have to keep living & moving forward, so we actively seek out the normal moments where we find them.
I used to feel like I didn't have enough years left in my life to make a difference, to do all of the things I wanted to do.. Now those years seem vast, knowing you won't be in them. I know I'll survive, I know in time the pain won't be as fresh, as sharp, as overwhelming, I hope, too, that the thought of my remaining years, spent without one of my kids won't be so panic-causing with enough time & healing.
For now, dad & I accept that we will never be the people we were before 1:47pm on May 8, 2015, but we are still here & we have to keep living & moving forward, so we actively seek out the normal moments where we find them.
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