Silent Remembrance

10/12/2025

Some days, this is all the heart knows to say.

10/12/2025

Good morning.

If you woke up today carrying someone who isn’t here anymore,
this space is for you.

Grief doesn’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes it shows up as a pause before replying to a message.
A wave of memory while making coffee.
A moment where your heart reaches out before your mind remembers.

Some days you miss them.
Other days you miss who you were when they were still here.
The version of life that felt fuller, slower, safer.

There’s no schedule for healing.
No rule that says mornings have to feel strong
or that time has to make it make sense.

If today feels heavy, you’re not behind.
You’re human.
And love like that doesn’t disappear — it learns new ways to stay.

Take this post as a soft place to land.
No fixing. No explaining.
Just remembering, quietly, together.

🤍

10/12/2025

Wishing heaven had visiting hours today.

Not forever.
Not even for long.
Just enough time to sit quietly with you again.

Enough time to tell you about the little things that don’t feel little anymore.
Enough time to hear your voice say my name the way only you did.
Enough time to laugh about nothing… or cry about everything.

Some days the missing comes suddenly.
It shows up in ordinary moments —
when a song plays,
when the house feels too quiet,
when something good happens and you’re the first person I want to tell.

I don’t need answers.
I don’t need explanations.
I just wish I could spend one ordinary hour in your presence again.

Grief isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s a soft, constant ache.
A longing that never really leaves.
A love that doesn’t know where to go anymore.

If heaven had visiting hours today,
I’d be there.

Missing you. Always.

10/12/2025

Wishing heaven had visiting hours today.

Not forever.
Not even for long.
Just enough time to sit quietly with you again.

Enough time to tell you about the little things that don’t feel little anymore.
Enough time to hear your voice say my name the way only you did.
Enough time to laugh about nothing… or cry about everything.

Some days the missing comes suddenly.
It shows up in ordinary moments —
when a song plays,
when the house feels too quiet,
when something good happens and you’re the first person I want to tell.

I don’t need answers.
I don’t need explanations.
I just wish I could spend one ordinary hour in your presence again.

Grief isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s a soft, constant ache.
A longing that never really leaves.
A love that doesn’t know where to go anymore.

If heaven had visiting hours today,
I’d be there.

Missing you. Always.

10/12/2025

There are so many things I still want to tell you.
The small things.
The ordinary updates.
The moments that don’t feel big enough to explain to anyone else — but somehow always felt worth telling you.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking, I should tell you this,
and for a split second, it feels possible.
Then my mind remembers what my heart already knows.

Grief does strange things.
It doesn’t always shout.
Most days, it just sits there quietly —
showing up when I least expect it.

I saw a quote today that said,
“If heaven had a phone, I wouldn’t call for answers.
I’d call just to hear your voice again.”

And that stayed with me longer than I thought it would.

Because there are days I don’t need explanations.
I don’t need signs.
I don’t need closure.

I just miss you.

I miss who I was when you were still here.
I miss the sound of your voice knowing my name.
I miss the comfort of believing there would always be one more conversation.

I hope you knew how loved you were.
I hope somehow you still know.

I love you.
I miss you.
Still.
Always.

🤍

09/12/2025

Some days I imagine what I would say if I could see you again.
Not the big speeches.
Not the explanations.

Just the quiet truths.

I’d tell you how strange life feels without you here.
How time kept moving even when my heart didn’t.
How I still catch myself expecting you in familiar places—
like grief never learned the rules of goodbye.

I’d tell you that missing you isn’t loud most days.
It shows up in still moments.
In pauses.
In breaths that feel heavier than they should.

If heaven allows visits, I hope you feel how deeply you’re loved.
Because even here, even now,
you still live in the ways my heart remembers.

—

09/12/2025

Some absences don't need explaining.

09/12/2025

09/12/2025

They play it everywhere this time of year.
In stores. On the radio. In passing conversations.
A song about wanting someone for Christmas.

And it hits differently depending on who you’re missing.

Some people hum along without thinking.
Some people smile because the wish already came true.
And some people suddenly feel very still.

This season has a way of shining a light on absence.
On the space at the table.
On the voice you expect to hear but don’t.
On the memories that come rushing back when no one warns you.

If this song ever makes your throat tighten,
if you ever go quiet when everyone else is singing,
please know there is nothing wrong with you.

You loved deeply.
And love doesn’t disappear just because the person is gone.

This space exists for moments like that.
For remembering.
For missing.
For sitting with what’s still there.

You’re not alone here.

— Silent Remembrance

09/12/2025

Some wishes don’t change with the season.
Some letters are written
and never sent.

09/12/2025

Some things leave.
But they stay in the corners.
In the quiet.
In the way a room still feels familiar.

If you understand this,
you're not alone.