Year Two: The Ache That Lingers

Eric

Everyone told me it would get easier with time. But here I am—deep in the second year—and it hurts even more than ever.

The world expects me to be “better,” as if healing follows a schedule. But the truth is, I still cry every night. I stare at the pillow with your face; you're smiling so big, and I miss that too. My heart still feels shattered. I still reach for you, and when I wake and realize you are still gone, it hurts all over again. 

I'm learning that grief isn’t a linear process. It isn’t a task to complete. It’s not something I’ll ever “get over.” It has changed me—reshaped me. It’s become a part of me, woven into my everyday life. I'm trying to embrace it, but I fail daily.

Grief is complicated because it’s invisible. From the outside, people think I look fine. But no one sees the weight I carry—the lump in my throat, the restless knots in my stomach, or the fatigue of pretending I’m okay.

You were my anchor, my peace, the one who helped me breathe when the world felt too heavy. Without you, I'm missing half of myself.

Still, I move forward. I carry the absence with me like a shadow. Some days, the grief is a soft whisper. Other days, it’s a storm I can barely stand. But always, it’s full of love in my heart.

I am enduring learning to coexist with the sorrow. And even though I don't feel whole, I am still here. I've changed, I've grown in so many ways since you left. 

Haleigh will still not talk or text me. My heart hurts, but I need to move on with my life without her. I miss her terribly and know this would really hurt you too. I may never see her or my grandchildren again. So much has changed in my life, and I no longer have the energy to put into this. I'm not getting younger, and I want to build more healthy and fun relationships with our children who kinda like me. Kayla says I was not supposed to be reaching out to Haleigh; I never received the memo about no contact, and I have been sending her random texts when I think of her, just saying "I love you" or "I miss you."

I can feel Heavenly Father near. I feel you cheering me on in the quiet moments. And while I may not be alone, I am deeply, quietly lonely. 

I've made a decision to serve in the Mesa Temple. I'm waiting for the call telling me they have some space. It'll only be one day a week, but I want to be there as much as possible now. I have also decided to serve a mission. So in two years, when I retire, I hope to be healthy enough to serve. You know it's something I have always dreamed of. I wanted to go when I was twenty-one, and that didn't happen because you happened. Then you promised me you and I would serve a mission together, you promised me. I don't know what 'our mission' is, Eric. It could go either way: 

1. I am healthy enough in two years, and I serve alone, but for both of us.

or

2. I leave this life and serve with you on the other side. 

I guess I win either way. I love you so much and just want to do everything right while you are gone so I can run into your arms as I cross the veil. 

XoXo Monya