I still remember the warmth of her hand cooling in mine, the way the room fell unbearably loud and silent all at once. Grief didn’t arrive softly; it crashed through our lives, splitting everything into “before” and “after.” I stumbled through the days that followed, pretending to be strong for our children while secretly wondering how to exist in a world she no longer occupied.

Yet in the smallest, most ordinary moments, she returns to us. In our daughter’s stubborn kindness, in our son’s crooked smile, in the way they reach for each other when the nights get heavy. I write to her because the page is the only place I can confess how lost I still feel, and how fiercely I’m trying. She is gone from our arms but not from our story. With every step we take, we carry her forward, turning unbearable absence into quiet, enduring love.