When the phone stops ringing on Sundays, after you’ve grown used to its melodic tune.
When the conversations stop happening, after you’ve grown used to how they change you.
When little legs no longer dangle in front of rocking chairs, behind screen walls.
When the things you thought you’d always have are no longer at your beck and call.
It’s a feeling that can’t quite be described when you lose a part of yourself.
It’s a deafening silence that you won’t experience anywhere else.
It’s a cry that passionately escapes from the pit of your stomach.
And, no matter how much you want to hold it in you wont have the chance.
It’s like putting together a puzzle without an essential piece.
It’s like trying to enjoy the weekend when you didn’t have the week.
It’s like cooking your favorite dish and forgetting the recipe.
It’s like pretending to be whole when you know you’re incomplete.
As much as I try to recover from the blow of your loss,
I realize I’m not trying to recover at all.
I want to hold on to you with all that I have,
Allowing others to experience you through the windows of my craft.
If recovery is returning to normal, that’s a destination I will never reach.
However, I find comfort in knowing that you are a huge part of me
If recovery is learning to live without you, I fear I have no choice.
But as long as my dreams reflect my thoughts, I will never forget your voice.