As I lay in bed last night reflecting on the last six years since we lost Wes, I think back to the beginning. When I would bargain in agony, asking God to take me too or to make the years go by faster so it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Six years later, it still hurts. Just as much, but differently.
Every year as this date approaches, I notice it.
I’m more stressed. More irritable. More all over the place, even more than my usual stress-ball self.
My body knows.
Six years later, it still goes on high alert.
And I sit here crying as I write this.
Because the loss is still just as big.
Only now, it feels more real than it did in the beginning.
In the beginning there was shock. Survival. Adrenaline.
Now there is clarity.
Now I understand what it means to live here without Wes.
And yet in these six years, God has provided in ways I never imagined.
“One step at a time,” people would tell me.
And that’s exactly what I did.
I didn’t make major decisions.
I didn’t uproot my life.
I didn’t move back home to my parents.
I just stayed.
And God met me here.
My mom practically moved in at first because I couldn’t function alone.
But little by little, I learned how.
I learned how to pay the bills alone.
How to make decisions alone.
How to sit in a quiet house without panicking.
And I learned that independence doesn’t mean doing everything by myself.
It means allowing people to show up for me.
Calling my dad when something’s wrong with my car… or my kitchen sink… or my bathroom.
Letting people help.
Receiving love without feeling weak.
I whisper “I miss him” throughout the day. It’s just constant.
I’m afraid that if I live long enough, the details of Wes will fade.
The way he said things.
The way he laughed.
The exact sound of his voice.
So I still talk about him.
I like introducing Wes to new friends. People who never got to meet him.
It feels like keeping him in the room.
He was so funny.
Brilliant.
And had zero patience for “dumb people,” as he would say.
Wes was incredibly well spoken.
A beautiful writer.
He’s probably the reason I love words the way I do.
Six years ago, I begged God to shorten the years.
Instead, He strengthened me for them.
Today, Greta turns six.
And I’m still here.
Still grieving.
Still missing Wes every single day.
But standing.
And held.
Still longing for the day we reunite in heaven.
Mimisdbest 