Approaching Year Two

I am moving into the second year without Jess, and grief feels different now. I suppose the shock has worn off. There is no longer that moment of sudden disbelief that she is gone. Instead, there’s a steady, familiar ache. I am no longer surprised by her absence. I am simply, regularly saddened by it.
One thing that has carried me through this first year is how supportive people have been. Friends, family, and even strangers have said things like, “Keep sharing about her.” And I plan to. Sharing Jess keeps her close, and it keeps me connected to the people who loved her, too.

Every morning, I scroll through my Facebook memories. There is something comforting about reading her words again, hearing her voice in my mind. But there’s a strange emptiness in knowing that one day, very soon, I will reach the end of the "new" #StuffMyGirlSays posts. There will be no new tidbits from her life to add. What once felt like an endless treasure chest of her humor and wisdom now feels finite, and that realization hurts in a way I’m not fully prepared for.

That’s part of why I want to lean more into #JessInspired. The things she inspired, her curiosity, her kindness, her silliness, her creative spark. These can live on forever. I want to keep that light moving forward, but I also want to be careful not to make it trite. It has to stay meaningful. Jess deserves that.
Grief has opened a kind of doorway I didn’t even know existed. I understand sadness and despair in ways I couldn’t have before. It’s like my heart learned a new language. Even when things hurt, I can still feel moments of gratitude. I notice how beauty and sorrow seem to weave together now, how they can both exist in the same space.

For reasons I can’t fully explain, I’ve been able to lean into purpose a little faster than some. Maybe that’s just how I’m wired. Or perhaps it’s Jess, giving me a gentle nudge. The Grief Heart Project has become an important part of my life. It feels like it matters not just for me, but for a whole world of grievers I’m only beginning to see. I want it to grow in a way that really helps people feel less alone.
Sometimes I wonder if pouring so much of myself into purpose is just my way of sidestepping something in my grief. Then I have to laugh, because really, what would “resolved” grief even mean? It is not something that ever wraps up neatly. It just keeps shifting and changing, finding new corners of life to settle into.

There is also that strange kind of guilt that sneaks in sometimes, the feeling that if I let myself enjoy life or laugh too easily, it must mean I am not missing her enough. My head knows that is not true, but my heart still questions it. Grief is such a messy mix of love and loss, joy and sorrow, all tangled together.
So here I am, stepping into year two. The world has not gone back to normal. It never will. But I have grown a little stronger in this unfamiliar life. The shock is gone. The sadness remains, and alongside it, there’s purpose, and gratitude, and the faintest glimmer of peace in knowing that Jess’s light still reaches me, even now.

P.S. This is my favorite photo of us together. She was being uncharacteristically shy when I was trying to get her picture taken, and the photographer suggested we take one together to start. Now I wish I had done that a lot more often!