I often find myself dividing time into two distinct periods: "Before his death" and "After his death." This framework has come to define much of my adult life; there is such a stark contrast between how we were before losing my husband and how we navigate life now. The world itself has transformed significantly in these eight years. The convenience of ordering something on your phone and having it arrive at your doorstep within hours, the changes in education with virtual classrooms. The incredible advancement of technology, not to mention the profound impact of the pandemic. But our family has undergone even more profound changes than all these worldly changes.
Hardly a day passes without me wondering what Ross would think of the world today, or how he would navigate its challenges. Would our children have chosen the same paths, had he still been with us? Would we have made the same decisions about our home? I can't help but imagine how he would have relished the experience of empty nesting, those summers when the kids were away at sleep-away camp—those were truly special times for us.
I reminisce about how he cheered on our daughter at her soccer tournaments and how he would have cheered her on at her recent college graduation, knowing she is pursuing her dream of becoming a doctor. I can almost hear him boasting about our son's achievements and unwavering dedication to the things he loves. And I can picture his beautiful smile as he sat beside our son, cheering on their beloved Florida Panthers.
As for our youngest, her loss feels like a different kind of pain. To be just twelve and lose your hero—it's a wound that will forever be raw. She's chosen a different path for her education, and I do not doubt that Ross would have been the life of the party at every parent's weekend, celebrating her journey with intense enthusiasm. After all, she was and will always be his baby girl. She was robbed, we were all robbed, and the grief never ceases.
I truly cannot believe it has been 8 years; I long to see your face, feel your touch, hear your laugh, and watch you with the kids. My love for you will never die, and my dedication to our family grows with each passing day. We say your name; we see the signs, we know you are traveling beside us, and we are forever grateful for your love. 143
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