Skip to main content

The world moves on, but we don’t.





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.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Finding Solace in the Pages

 "If you asked me why I read so much, I'd say it's because I simply enjoy it. But on a deeper level, I'd tell you that a book never takes from me; it only gives. As a full-time mom and wife, I'm always pouring into others, constantly giving more to everyone and everything around me. But when I read, I can simply be. It’s a rare and precious kind of peace, the kind I desperately need in my life right now."  In the crazy of daily life, it can be easy to lose ourselves in the demands of being a full-time mom and wife. We give so much of ourselves to others that sometimes it feels like there's little left for us. But amidst the chaos, I've found a refuge—a place where I can simply be . That place is within the pages of a book. On the surface, I read because I simply enjoy it. There’s something magical about getting lost in a story, exploring new worlds, and meeting characters who feel like old friends. But if I dig deeper, there’s more to it than just enjo...

You are not alone

There's been an unknown heaviness on my heart these past couple days I've struggled with and all it took was a simple kind gesture of a friend to gift me a beautiful cookie as a reminder of the baby I lost in pregnancy, not once but twice. It struck me in that moment just what I've been struggling with all week.  I'm not even sure my friend knew exactly what this would have meant to me, that the timing of her gift would hit me so hard, but I spent the next 30 minutes bawling alone in my car. I'm sitting here this morning sharing this cookie with my boys, remembering the babies I've lost, thinking of the newborn I would be holding in my arms this very moment if God had planned it otherwise.  I think it's particularly hard this week because exactly a year ago today I sat by this same old fireplace on a Monday morning watching my two year old and three year old run around playing and screaming, asking myself if this was really possible, could I be pregnant agai...