You’re Never Completely Gone

But I miss you

Every morning, when I wake up, one of the first things that hits me is the fact that you’re not on this earth anymore. The fact that you’re buried within the earth instead of walking on it with us is something I can’t escape.

My heart aches at the undeniable fact that you’re missing from the world.

The inescapable truth that you’re missing from us seems to pound on repeat in my mind. It still hits so hard at times that I feel like I can’t breathe.

But you’re never completely gone, are you? There are still pieces of you all around us.

I still see you in the sparkle in your baby’s blue eyes. In the way she loves so completely, despite how much she’s been hurt in life.

I see you in your oldest daughter’s stride, and how excited she gets when she’s talking about something she’s passionate about.

I still see you in the chuckle that our dad lets out, despite himself. He doesn’t really sing anymore, though, Bubba.

I still see you in the poems that my daughter writes for you, pouring her heart onto the page. All the feelings she wishes she could share with you.

You and I look a lot alike, so sometimes I even see you in my own face.

Sissy sends me memes that she would’ve sent to you, and it keeps your spirit alive as we chuckle, or even belly laugh, at the thought of how hard you would laugh at it.

My youngest child wears your clothes a lot. It makes her feel close to you. When I see your shirt on her, it never fails to stab and soothe my heart at the same time. She is keeping you with her in one of the only ways she knows how.

You’re here in the walking stones that you helped me fix after I laid them completely crooked, all the while assuring me that I did a great job. Because you were like that, Bubba. You never wanted anyone to feel bad. Your heart was so big.

Every time I walk over those stones, I can feel a piece of your loving heart.

I see you and feel you when I look at the rosebuds on my bush that still refuse to give in to the cold, still blooming as the snow showers them.

I can hear your youthful voice: “Wake up, little rosebud” and the echo of my childish giggle. I thought you were amazing every time you said that to me.

I wish I could wake you up with the call of my voice. I wish you were just pretend-sleeping like I used to do.

You’re still here in my backyard, remnants of you in the fire pit where you built the bonfire for our kids to roast marshmallows together, on that last visit before you took your own life.

You’re still here, but I miss you so much.

I hate that you’re missing from us, Bubba. But as long as all of us are still drawing breath into our lungs, you’re never really gone. We hold you in our hearts, and we incorporate you into our lives in so many little ways. In any way we can think of, honestly.

Because a world where you are completely gone wouldn’t feel like it was worth living in, would it?