The world moves on, but we don’t.

Our hearts still ache—some days more than others. People say it gets easier, but it hasn’t. Instead, each day seems to pull us deeper into the reality that he’s gone, that he’s not just “away.” There’s no moment when you suddenly hear that laugh you loved so much or enjoy those jokes he always seemed to have that would brighten your day. Our little boys can’t run to their papa for one of those bear hugs only he could give, hugs that made them feel like the safest place in the world was right there in his arms.

For my husband, he wasn’t just a dad—he was a friend. He was there to ease the tension between hard moments, but he was also the one good for a laugh and a stupid joke when you needed it most. My husband doesn’t get to call him anymore, can’t share his victories or complain to him after the annoying days at work. He was always there with a listening ear, sometimes wisdom, but often with just the right amount of nonsense to lift the weight off your shoulders.

It’s those small, irreplaceable moments that are missed the most. Every holiday, every celebration feels incomplete. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's… they all feel hollow without his dad’s laughter filling the room, his humor breaking up the day, his goofy dances that made everyone smile, even when he embarrassed himself just for fun. I’ll never hear him sing along to "Low" by Flo Rida,. Those moments, so simple yet precious, are gone.

And every day, I find myself wishing, more than anything, that my husband could just call his dad, even just once. To share one more conversation, hear his voice, or feel that embrace. I’d give anything to see his face light up with his dad’s humor, to have our boys wrapped up in their papa’s arms. I want that empty place in our hearts to be filled again, for the ache that sits so heavily in us to fade. But it’s a wish we can’t have, because God decided to bring him home.

I keep thinking about how we move forward and keep his memory alive in a way that fills us with warmth instead of just sadness. Maybe it’s in all the little memories we carry—the stories we’ll tell our kids, the funny moments that still make us laugh even when they bring a tear or two. It’s about finding ways to keep his spirit alive, to let his kindness and humor shine through us. He may not be here physically, but he’s woven into our family forever, part of our laughter, our traditions, and the way we love each other.

In a way, he’ll always be with us, a piece of who we are and who we’ll always be. And maybe that’s what matters most—that he lives on through the joy and love he left behind.

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