I saw something passed around on social media about Christmas. It was addressed to those who recently lost a loved one.
It ends with: “Next year won’t be as hard. Trust me”.
In fact, this year may have hurt even more. The year after you walk through in a fog of shock. The year you’re supposed to be “fine”.
But I saw all the other little girls in their pretty dresses. And all the bright eyed little ones waking up early. All the photos with Santa.
Ours was so quiet. Just Joe and me exchanging gifts on Christmas morning after sleeping in. No early wake up. No squeals of excitement. No dresses. No bows. And before her that was fine. Joe and I spent many Christmases that way.
Now all we could think was “it should be so different”.
After Christmas dinner at my grandma’s house, I took pink roses to the cemetery where her stone just got placed.
This year is just as hard. Trust me.