Today would be your 30th birthday.
So, I wrote a little something to get the heaviness off of my chest.
I love you, Aaron. **********************************************************************
“Twelve years have passed in a blur of tears and expectation. Still, with each descent of the moon, I close my eyes in vain as I pray to wake up to your face.
It’s irritating how inconsistent a thing like grief is. Most days, I can function with you somewhere in the background and feel like I am happy. Other days, I can cry all day long at the thought of your touch or the reminder of how old you would be if you were still here.
I’ve found that time doesn’t heal as they so often say. Instead, the heart heals when the mind remembers to forget, and I hate myself for the parts of you I’ve forgotten. I can’t hear your voice anymore. I can’t remember how it felt when you would wrap your arms around me, or how you would laugh as we walked together down the hard gravel.
I feel so far away--the mountain air and the winding roads don’t bring me back to you anymore--and that place and those people are just a stained reminder of the person I buried when I left there. Instead, I just wish I could feel you where I feel at home. But you’re too far into heaven that I can’t reach you. So, come a little farther down... Stay where I can find you--and hold me together with your hands while I try to move on again without you.”
--Kate Vianne Sheridan, some general thoughts and musings
