Year SevenMichelle Jeffreys
It’s been seven years, but it feels like yesterday…
Seven years without you, my sweet Zoe Raine. Seven years without everything about you, your love, your beauty, your inquisitive nature, your inspiring determination, your goofiness, your zest for life, your enthusiastic laugh, your sparkle, your entire essence.
I have been asked if it gets easier.
It’s not easier; it’s different.
It’s knowing, yet never accepting, what is unacceptable.
It’s learning to carry the crushing weight and pain of a broken heart.
It’s discovering a new normal.
It’s songs that remind me of “us.”
It’s scents that linger, questioning if you are near.
It’s magical moments without your presence.
It’s longtime “friends” who’ve walked away too uncomfortable in my presence.
It’s true friends who have stayed, checking in and trying to understand what I pray they never will.
It’s the constant alone.
It’s family, my comfort, my strength, my lifeline.
It’s breathing one moment and losing your breath the next.
It’s masking your pain to others.
It’s dreadful reminders and images you can’t forget.
It’s sometimes sleepless nights and endless days.
It’s being, yet not being, all at once.
It’s reaching for the unreachable.
It’s wishing with every fiber of my being that I could take your place.
It’s never-ending whys, what-ifs, and if only.
It’s crying for no reason and crying for every reason.
It’s being present but being elsewhere always.
It’s preparing yourself for questions like “How many children do you have?.”
It’s deciding who and how to tell people what happened to you.
It’s believing in the signs and recognizing them when they come.
It’s the anticipation of sleep each night, hoping to see you in my dreams.
It’s waking each morning, one day closer to seeing you again.
It’s smiling through tears.
It’s forever yearning for what can never be.
It’s joy-filled memories and haunting reminders.
It’s the feeling of weakness while trying to be strong.
It’s my eternal love for you.
It’s forever missing you.