It is sometimes outwardly, but mostly silently that I love you.
With layers of memories and oceans of tears, there is hardly something new to say or do about how much I miss you.
But I do.
I’ve loved you in pain.
And I’ve loved in so much joy.
I’ve loved you while making memories I never imagined I had the capacity to make, good ones, bad ones and everything in between.
I’ve loved you silently while we prepare for Thanksgiving, begin thinking about Christmas and choosing costumes every October.
I’ve loved you, like a phantom I can imagine you right there with your siblings, where you belong. It is crushing, soothing and whimsical to wonder what the three of you together might be.
I’ve loved you in the grocery store, in the park and interviewing for jobs. I’ve loved you at retreats, in the middle of a random conversation with a stranger and in bookstores. Because that is how grief and love works.
It is ingrained into your DNA. It affects anything and everything. And every time you start to wonder, how did I get here… to this point… to this place, relationship, etc…? (not necessarily in the bad way, but the strike of wonder that sometimes happens).
I’ve loved you at the cemetery, and in the middle of birthday celebrations.
I’ve loved you in every possible moment.
It is possibly the only love that is invisible to every other person on the planet.
It is both exhausting and exhilarating how much power a love that is impossible to fully express this side of heaven can have.