The Day He Died

The day he died, everything changed. The world kept spinning, people went about their lives, but for me, time stood still. The weight of his absence settled over me, heavy and inescapable, as I tried to make sense of a world without him in it.

The day he died, I realized how much space he had taken up in my life. It wasn’t just the big moments—it was the little things, the quiet presence I had always counted on. The way he’d laugh at his own dad jokes, even when we rolled our eyes. The way he’d make you feel like the most important person in the room, even when you didn’t think you deserved it. His absence didn’t leave a hole; it left an entire universe missing.

The day he died, I thought about his recliner in the family room—the spot he’d claimed for as long as I could remember. It sat empty, perfectly molded to him, like a shadow of the man who had once filled it. I thought about the tools in the garage, lined up just the way he liked, each one a reminder of how he’d drop everything to help fix whatever needed fixing. I thought about his favorite book, still sitting on the side table, waiting for him to pick it up again.

The day he died, I replayed the sound of his voice in my mind, holding onto it like a lifeline. The way he’d say my name as if it were the most precious word he knew. The way he’d tell stories, always embellishing just a little to make us laugh. The way his laugh itself could fill a room, warm and unmistakably his.

The day he died, I felt the weight of all the things he wouldn’t be here for. The moments I’d still want to call him to share, the milestones he wouldn’t get to see, the little joys I’d always taken for granted. There was an emptiness in knowing I’d never hear his advice again or watch his face light up when he laughed.

The day he died, I thought about his hands—the hands that had built so much of the life I have now. Hands that had carried me when I was too small to walk, held me steady when I felt unsure, and worked tirelessly to give me the kind of life he always dreamed for me.

The day he died, grief came rushing in like a tide I couldn’t hold back. It wasn’t just sadness—it was guilt for the times I didn’t call enough, anger that he was gone too soon, and gratitude for every moment I’d been lucky enough to share with him.

The day he died, I promised myself I’d carry him with me. Not just in my memories, but in the way I live my life. I’ll keep him in the kindness I show, in the love I give, in the quiet moments when I feel him most. His love didn’t end that day—it simply took on a new form, one I’ll carry with me forever.

The day he died, my heart broke in a way I didn’t know was possible. But it also reminded me just how much love one heart can hold. And though I said goodbye that day, I know he’ll never truly be gone.

He’s here—in my heart, in my memories, in the person I am because of him.

Aimee💗