It has been a year since you left. A year we never wanted to experience, but one that spawned so many life decisions once we woke up to how short life is. So many say that the pain gets better with time. It doesn’t. Breathing may begin to normalize again, but the heart doesn’t stop aching. The buckling of legs when the thought of you enters the mind hasn’t stopped. The pain of not being able to hold you hasn’t diminished. The replaying of so many life events with you in them, including your last day, hasn’t left.
The night after you were gone, I remembered lying in the bed, thinking about how there was no way possible to go on. I googled how many pills of whatever I had in my med stash, would it take to end my life. I’ve never told anyone that. I’m not sure what stopped me since I had no fear at all about anything ever being worse than life without you in it. Still, something stopped me.
In the year since, the pain has not gone away. I watched a movie recently, where a pill could wipe away memories of a life event, so they wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. It sounded intriguing, if it existed, but I don’t want that. After all, without my memories of you, you wouldn’t exist at all, except for the urn I have you in, and some of you in the cremation tattoo on my arm.
Despite all of that, we wouldn’t change anything, except having lost you.
One year ago, you changed everything. Your loss gave us permission to say no. You gave us the outlook to go do what makes us happy, not what is normal, nor what makes sense to everyone else. Life is rich, just viewed and lived through a new set of glasses.
For a year, we’ve been reflecting on each day of firsts without you, but also the love we shared, that enabled our hearts to grow. We carry you along with each and every adventure we have.
We love and miss you so very much, sweet Pharrell. There are no words to express that. We pray you can feel our undying love for you, over that rainbow bridge, where I hope and pray with all of my being, we will meet again.