It’s been two years.
I still can’t quite believe I’m writing those words. Two years without your voice, your laugh, your advice. Two years without being able to call you, just to tell you something random or ask for help, or even just to say hello. The silence you’ve left behind is loud. It follows me through the days. Some moments feel okay, and others—well, others feel unbearable.
I miss you. Deeply. Every single day.
There’s a part of me that’s still trying to process that you’re really gone. I catch myself reaching for my phone sometimes, ready to message or call, only to remember. It’s like my heart forgets before my mind reminds it.
We’ve had such a hard time sorting everything since you passed. Your estate has been one challenge after another—stressful, frustrating, and at times completely overwhelming. You were always the one who kept things together, the one who could see through the fog and just know what to do. I wish I could hear your voice guiding me through it all. I wish I could just ask you what you’d do. I’d give anything for a conversation—one more moment, one more piece of your wisdom.
And it’s not just the big things. It’s the quiet ones too. The random question I’d ask you. The comfort I’d get just from hearing your opinion. The little hello, the daily check-in, the grounding presence you always were. That’s what I miss most. Not just the you in big memories, but the you in ordinary life.
The world has kept moving, even when I’ve felt stuck. I’ve done my best. Some days I think you’d be proud of me. Other days, I just feel lost. But I carry you with me. In the way I think, the way I treat others, in the parts of me you helped shape. You’re not here, but you’re everywhere in my heart.
I hope somehow, somewhere, you know how much I miss you. How much you still mean to me. I love you more than I ever got to say.
Love always,
Mark |
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*HUGS*
