This post (has nothing to do with houses and) is difficult to write—I’ve started it before but have yet to finish. Last weekend, however, I saw sweet Laura for the first time in 11 months, and experiencing her positive spirit and that of her two daughters has brought me my own small sense of comfort.
Laura is, without a doubt, the strongest, most amazing woman I know. Her daughters, Autumn and Raven, are precious, happy children. Yet it is for them I fret most…you see, these darling girls lost their father last July, just before Raven’s birth.
As they grow, Autumn will no doubt struggle as her father’s easy smile and warm embrace wane into distant memories held tightly in her heart, and Raven will doubtless always wonder what her father was really like and why she never got the chance to meet him in this life.
In truth, these girls are a gift left to us by their father, and a truer gift I cannot imagine. To see them smile is to catch a glimpse of him. To watch them interact is to recall the sincerity of his friendship. To hug them is to sense his presence, feel his kiss on my cheek. To be near them when they giggle is to hear his, “I love you, sis,” in my ear.
As I said, I have yet to finish this post. And after my time this weekend with Laura and her girls , I finally get why. I will never finish this post. It’s not about closure—closure will never come. It isn’t about understanding—there is no comprehensible explanation for losing him the way we did.
It’s about the ongoing process of this loss. He didn’t end on the day he died, it’s just that his impact changed in unimaginable and profound ways.
Losing him is a process—one that will never end. He will remain ever-present in the flourishing of Laura’s strength and love while she continues to experience this world as a woman who is stronger and more remarkable for having known him. His influence will continue to surprise us as we watch his girls grow into the beautiful young women we will desperately wish he could hold and know.
There is one thing we know for sure: he is in peace, and that brings us peace. We are eager to see what their future holds—Laura, Autumn and Raven’s. We know that his influence will always be with them, and will remain a part of who we all are and where we will go.
Kort, may you rest in peace. We love you.