8 Years

Grief is hard. It's a neverending process. There are moments when you are okay, happy even, and then something happens to remind you of what was lost. It's confusing. The "what might have been's" silently creep into your mind and your ability to focus on the present is clouded.  

Grief catches you off guard. You can be so thankful for the life you have, but always missing a little (or big) something. You feel guilty for surviving, for living, but really there isn't another suitable option. 

Grief is there. It is always there. Regardless of the smile on your face, there is still hurt in your heart. Just because everyone else has moved on doesn't mean that you are able to. Life happens, you are living it, but there are times you feel like a casual observer to your own life. 

Grief doesn't end. No matter how many times you wish it away or pray for it to be leave, it's still there. The missing, longing, loving and heartbreak is there. 

They say "it gets easier". I guess it does. Sort of. It doesn't take my breath away as often anymore. I've stopped reaching for the phone to call them when I need advice or an ear to listen to my mindless rants (sorry Jenny, that's all you now). I've learned how to go on in a world that is absent of them. 

What doesn't get easier are the lost hopes and dreams. Everything that you pictured life would be, isn't. When I was little and I imagined life, they were always there. They were meeting my children, they were celebrating milestones, achievements and holidays, they were creating memories and they were present. 

Alex has asked more questions about them this year. It both heals and hurts my heart. I love talking about them and reminding him how much they love them (him and Jax). I love sharing stories and history. I like laughing about them. But it hurts to know that they will never know them. The stories, my words and the laughter will never convey how much they would have loved them and doted on them. These two boys would have been their heart and happiness.  

I'm healing. I really am. I know these yearly posts may not be very convincing of that. For me, today is a day that I allow myself to grieve. I allow myself to hurt. I allow my heartache to be okay. 

I miss them. I miss him. I miss her. I miss me. I miss our family, the three of us and then four. I miss the phone calls. I miss the advice. I miss the long talks. I miss her food. I miss his humor. I miss the dinners and breakfasts. I miss the "I love you's" and "see you tomorrow's". I miss their voices and laughs. I miss their pride and encouragement. I miss the unconditional love. I miss the memories. I miss feeling whole.