Conversations begin but fade into other thoughts. I can't recall what they were about, but I know I tend to ramble. Unsure of where to start or end, my only intention is to make you laugh. Sometimes seeking advice, sometimes simply whining.
I often picture you in my mind, trying to imagine your face, but I can never quite capture it. I mix faces, using fragments of memories to construct an image of you. Not real memories, just a sensation—a feeling of comfort and familiarity. How does that face really look?
Yet, I am convinced. Without a shadow of a doubt, I believe you would have been beautiful, even stunning. On strange days, I feel a twinge of jealousy, thinking about how you could have been better than me. Maybe you would have navigated life with more grace. Perhaps it should have been me instead of you. Maybe you would have been more deserving of it all.
But it's not really jealousy, it's a longing for you to be experiencing too.
If I wholeheartedly believed in life after death, it would bring reassurance, a sense of relief. I would know that although we can never be together here, laughing and fighting, there is still a chance to reunite in the after.
Unfortunately, I don't possess that unwavering conviction, and it fills me with guilt.
We share the same birthday, you know. There's something special about that, something spiritual. Perhaps you left a piece of yourself within me. A birthmark.
These thoughts surface late at night when I remember to remember you.
I wonder about all the moments we missed by not having you, but I also wonder about the things you made space for. I wouldn't want to lose what I have now—gang gang.
Therefore, there can be no regret in your absence. It's simply a profound sense of loss. The fleeting moments when it feels like someone is missing. The table set with too few places, the hesitation after counting the last one of us, yet feeling the next number at the tip of my tongue.
There are times when I cry for you, overwhelmed with sorrow. My heart aches because I can't even conjure an image of you, not even a single figure to embrace and hold.
There lies the seduction to believe in the spiritual realm, to believe that you are somewhere watching over me, guiding and protecting me. But at the same time, I wouldn’t want you to be a passenger, unable to interact. That would only make it sadder.
What I truly wish for is what I wish for those still with me. I want you to be happy, free and loved. And to know, that even though our meeting was very short, and your absence longer, you would fit right in. It would feel like you were never gone. There will always be a space for you, an eternal presence.
I do realize that we don't lose ourselves in thoughts of you. I can't fully comprehend how each of us feels your absence, how it manifests in different ways within us.
I often think about Mom and how she copes with your absence. I wonder how she carries it, how she gracefully accepts the reality that you're no longer here. It's hard to imagine that she has ever fully come to terms with your absence, but she handles it with grace.
For Mom's sake, I would create an afterlife, a place where she could hold you in her arms once more.
For her, for you, I cling to the hope of a reunion. I hold onto the possibility that we will someday be reunited with those we've lost.
To see those we've lost, to lose ourselves in their embrace.
I can’t imagine a greater gift of a life well-lived.
And in that moment, I would think, "I never thought I would see you again."
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