There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.
It’s been a year. In the day leading up to the year I told myself “he was alive this time last year.” Or “ He saw the fire works, even if it was just out of his window, this time last year” and worst of all “I could have called and heard his laugh this time last year but I didn’t”
But the year has now passed.
He always told me I’d bounce back, forget all about him, He was wrong and he hated to be wrong and I miss that I can’t rub it in.
When he left this world he took some part of me with him and left a hole I plug with memories, but there is still an ache that hasn’t dulled even though it’s been more than a year.
I saw a woman on the side of the street carrying a case of beer and a stuffed pony. I wanted to call and ask him where he thought she was going.
You were wrong Bobby. There is no forgetting you.
Grief can’t be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh