Days go on. 

Life goes on. 

Yet, I don’t know how to live with the questions. 

They don’t come gently – they rip through me. 

What did I miss? 

What didn’t I say? 

Why didn’t I see it? 

Why didn’t I do more? 

I keep thinking there had to be a moment- just one – where I could’ve reached you. Where I could’ve said the right thing in the right way and it would’ve cut through whatever was hurting you enough to make you put the drugs/needle down. To make you stay. I replay our conversations like if I study them hard enough, I’ll find the exact moment you decided “do it just one more time”. 

And God, that thought is unbearable. 

Because I would have done anything. 

Anything. 

I would have sat with you all night.

I would have answered every call. 

I would have fought for you even when you didn’t have the strength to fight for yourself. 

I would have carried your pain if it meant you didn’t have to feel it anymore. 

You didn’t deserve the kind of pain that made using feel like the only option. That numbing out was the only option – even if it cost you your life. And it kills me that I didn’t understand how deep it went. That maybe you were drowning right in front of me and I didn’t see it for what it was. 

I hate that I couldn’t save you. That no one could have saved you. 

I hate that I’m still here living a life that you should be a part of. That I still reach for my phone to text you. That I still think “she’ll love this” before it hits me all over again that you’re gone. 

You’re just gone. 

And it doesn’t make sense. It never will make sense. 

There is this ache in my chest that doesn’t leave – it just changes shape. Some days it’s quiet, and other days it’s so loud I can’t hear anything else. Because I don’t just miss you – I miss who I was when you were here. 

I miss telling you everything I couldn’t tell anyone else. 

I miss reading vocab words to you straight from the dictionary. 

I miss arguing with you about why I can’t make you homemade granola or croutons. 

I hope wherever you are, the pain stops. I hope you’re not hurting anymore. I hope you know how loved you were, even if it didn’t feel like it. 

And I’m so, so sorry that love wasn’t enough to keep you here.

I would have saved you if I knew how. 

I still wish I could. 

But as much as I want it my way, it’s His not mine. 

I have to believe Jeus was there when it happened – that He saw your pain, held you in it, and carried you somewhere peaceful when it got too heavy. I have to believe you’re resting now. 

Safe. 

Whole. 

And I know that someday, we’ll meet again – painting under the trees, next to the flowers.