It’s been a month since I sat down at my laptop to write and two weeks since you passed.
My journal is full of handwritten scribbles and reflections, punctuated with the roller coaster of emotions I’ve been experiencing as I sort through my thoughts.
I faced every day knowing this wouldn’t be easy. I faced every moment knowing it could all end without notice. I faced every minute hoping it would all move through me.
And somehow, I feel like I should be over it all. That the thought of seeing you slowly slip away before us would be healed quickly because ‘it was time’. It was like I gave myself the permission to grieve for, like, a week. Because, you know – as they say – life goes on.
But I’ve dreamt of you for the past two nights and I struggle with the contrasting feelings that come along with losing a parent – someone tied to me by blood – and at the same time, someone I barely knew. Someone I only became reacquainted with at the end.
Because it was only at the end that I was able to see you again for what we all are – souls traveling in human bodies craving connection, acceptance, worthiness, purpose, and love.
I asked you at one point if you were scared and I could tell you meant it when you said you weren’t. I could tell you knew it was time. I could tell you were ready to go.
And so for now, I live with the slowly receding memories of the smell of your hospital room, of us listening to The Beatles while I feed you vanilla pudding, of you leaning in to ask me when you would be leaving, and your face the morning you took your last breaths. Knowing that time heals. Knowing that time is all we have. Knowing that time flies. Knowing that it’s our job to make the most of this life.
Until I see you again, xoxo
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