It seems unbelievable that we are starting a New Year that you and Dad will never see;
I have been so sad the past few days as 2016 approached.
2016, just a number, a New Year, a blank slate,
yet it heralds a time in this world where we must go on without you,
a path on this earth where you cannot follow,
a journey we must now make alone.
It doesn't seem right.
I made a 2016 family calendar since you are not here to do it anymore,
and there were too many dates I had to leave blank,
no labels but heavy with meaning,
strong with memory.
January 4th—the day we lost Dad,
March 1st—Dad's birthday,
March 15th—your birthday,
April 28th—the day we lost you.
The funeral days are sharp yet blurry,
and every day after pregnant with a grief we do not want to birth.
We stumbled through our first holiday season without you,
and most of us became ill,
vomiting up all of our unspoken words and emotions.
But me, I stepped on the cat's tail, on Christmas Day,
fell and fractured my wrist. A trip to the ER
and I came home with a splint on my right wrist.
Shattered lives, shattered bones.
Broken bones, broken spirits.
Losing you was like losing my right arm, and now I am utterly
We all feel so bereft, unready, lost.
We miss you both so much.
We wish we could rewind to you.
But time waits for no one so
we are marched into 2016,
a year we are not ready to face,
into a world we are not ready to know,
into a time without you.
Out of the remains of our battered world,
we must create a new normal as our new selves emerge.
But we carry your love, your hearts, your memories into 2016, and
will band together, help each other, and
use the knowledge and gifts that you taught us
to move forward, recover, and become more resilient
as we remember to cherish every
moment and memory
with those we love.