Carrying What’s Left When You’re Gone

Watching Zosia navigate this anniversary shattered me. I stood there, helpless, knowing there was nothing I could do to take away her pain. I can’t fix this for her. I don’t have a map for this terrain. How do you guide your 15-year-old—your 14-year-old, your 17-year-old—through a journey no child should have to take?

Zosia is my tender soul, my shadow. She feels my sorrow as if it were her own and tries to carry it, just as I ache to carry hers. I suspect she holds back, guarding her thoughts to protect me, while all I want is to shoulder her grief so she doesn’t have to bear it alone.

Grief doesn’t just belong to one person—it ripples through everyone who loved the one who’s gone. As a parent, I’ve learned that my pain and Zosia’s pain are intertwined, yet completely different. I can’t shield her from this loss, and she can’t shield me. So instead, we walk through it together, step by fragile step.

With Zosia's permission, I’m sharing her words—a glimpse into the heart of a teenager navigating the unthinkable.

One year ago today I found out you had died, and ever since, I have spent every waking hour trying to figure why. I replay that night over and over until I can’t anymore, trying to imagine you, trying to get a glimpse of you one last time. I have been through all the “what ifs” and more, yet none of them bring you back, and none of them quiet the ache.

November 29, 2025

Grief has taught me how loud silence can be, how heavy a memory becomes when it’s all you have left. I look for you in places you’ll never be again, in old songs, in familiar streets, in the version of myself that existed when you were still breathing the same air as me. Some days I’m angry. Some days I’m numb. Some days I pretend I’m okay just to survive the weight of missing you.

They say time heals, but time has only taught me how to carry this missing piece of my life without dropping it. I still wish for one more conversation, one more laugh, one more chance to say everything I didn’t know I’d need to say. But all I have now are the echoes of you, and the love that never learned where to go when you left.

So today I don’t search for answers anymore. I just speak your name into the quiet and hope that, somehow, it still reaches you.

Her words stopped me in my tracks—raw, unfiltered, and achingly beautiful. They remind me that grief is not something we fix; it’s something we carry, together. I can’t erase her pain, and she can’t erase mine, but in speaking our truths, we create a space where love still lives. A space where echoes become connection, and silence becomes a whisper of hope.

Today, we honor that—side by side, holding what’s left and loving what will always remain.