SophieJ Life Experiences

Hi Tonton Ceus,

It has been a year since you grew your wings and flew away. A year since I last heard your voice. I have not replayed your voicemails, but I refuse to change my phone. Some part of me believes your voice still belongs here.

This past year has been more challenging without you than I ever imagined. Uncle Fred brings you up almost every time I see him, sharing stories layered upon stories that keep you alive in conversation. It’s comforting and heartbreaking all at once.

Dad, though… Dad has been in denial for most of the year. He doesn’t acknowledge the loss; he always refers to you in the present tense. Perhaps, in his heart, you’re still very much alive, and in ours, you are.

Mom had a rough first six months. Weekends were especially painful, and March was terrifying. She lost so much weight; her body was betraying what her mouth couldn’t say. Grief burned through her metabolism like it was trying to outrun the pain.

Ti Madam is coping in the only way she knows how, whatever that means on any given day. For months, she couldn’t even drive past the mausoleum. She’s stronger now, though the tenderness remains. I don’t think she wants a graduation lunch this year. You enjoyed the last one so much. We might travel instead, which you always loved, movement, new scenery, life unfolding.

This year has made me painfully aware that time is the greatest currency we have. I’ve been more intentional with it than ever before. So much has happened, and in quiet moments, I catch myself wondering how you would have reacted, what joke you would have made, what advice you would have offered, or how you would have softened the edges of it all.

I know you’re better now. No more muscle pain. No more diabetes. No more worries, regrets, or trauma. No more carrying the weight of those unbearable seven years that changed you so profoundly.

And yet, when I think about it, we had you for seven years, too. I hope those years exceeded your expectations. I hope you felt deeply loved. We said it often, but grief has a way of convincing me that there was still so much left unsaid and undone.

Grief, I’ve learned, is an unfinished love letter, one that I will carry with me for as long as I live.

PS: I enjoy writing to you. I can do it now without feeling overwhelmed. Therapy does work, if I say so myself.

Always,
Me 🤍