My dearest Sara,
It has somehow been 727 days since you took your last breath. In 3 days and about 6 hours, it will have been 2 years exactly. I actually miss the early days of grief, when it felt so much more natural to let tears leak out whenever and wherever they felt like appearing. I still think about you every day, but my grief feels somewhat muted. I’m not sure if it’s because part of me feels self-conscious about still missing you so much or if it’s just the natural progression of my personal expression of grief, but it’s harder to find both my tears and the words to tap into my grief now.
Some days, though… some days the magnitude of what I lost (what the world lost) when you died still overwhelms me, and some days the tears still come. I miss your empathy – you cared so strongly, so passionately about the well being of others that sometimes it caused you pain. I miss your humor – the random jokes you would crack and our ability to laugh together in both light and heavy times. I miss the spark you brought into this world – your mischievous smile and love of that which is joyful. One particular memory jumps out at me when I think of your joy, how incredibly excited you got after I invited you to go to ZooLights with me, not too long after we’d started dating. We had such a good night that night, with our hot cocoa and the chilly fall temps and the playful lights.
I miss most of all, all the quiet (or not so quiet) moments we had together at home, the two of us and the pets. I love you and I loved our life. And although I promise I’m continuing on, it’s just not as much fun, not as much joy without you.
I’m currently 12 weeks pregnant with George’s sibling. I’m excited to be pregnant again after trying for so long, but I’m also sad that you aren’t here to do this with me. Doing this alone is intimidating and scary, but I do know I have your influence still swirling around in my head and in my heart. I also know that there are so many people who will be in this child’s life only because you were in mine, for which I am so grateful.
Nothing will ever “fix” or “make up” for what I lost when you and George died, but your love changed my soul and left a permanent imprint on my being. Sharing some of that love with another child feels like one way I can honor what we had. You won’t be this child’s mother, but I (and others who loved you) will make sure they know you.
The next few weeks will be tough – your 2nd deathiversary, what should be our 5th wedding anniversary, and my 38th birthday in rapid succession. Throw in there pregnancy hormones and transitioning from the 1st to the 2nd trimester, and it’s extra fraught. I’ll get through it – there are many people who care about me and it’s a matter of taking things one day (or sometimes one hour) at a time.
Tonight, I really would want nothing more than one of your hugs. One of your deep, strong, lingering hugs where I can bury my face in your neck and feel our bodies connect and our energy intertwine. I can’t have that, so instead I’m sitting here finishing up this blog post, laughing at how Ember flings kibble when he eats and soon I’ll be snuggling Shifu when we go to bed.
You have my heart (still) – 6 years after we met, almost 5 years after we married, and 2 years after you died. I love you, and I miss you (always).
-Trent
