I remember crying on his chest for the first time in YEARS. I told him I loved him and he looked at me and said “Mija, you know who you are. I love you.” Those were his last words to me.

I feel like I am progressing in my grief journey. Although progressing doesn’t seem like the right word, it is the most accurate that I have found.  My grief is not as raw as it was at the beginning, and I don't cry as often as I once did. But it still feels like an open wound that will never heal.

Love is a constant. Even though they are not here does not mean that we love them less.

“A constant reminder of how grief knows no color, no gender, no age, or no financial bracket”