My dearest Adi,
It rained yesterday—heavily. And I missed you more than words can say.
I kept picturing you in your red chair, gazing out at the rain. I kept thinking about how you would’ve sat there, watching the rain, your eyes quietly following each drop. How you’d curl up by the window corner of the bed, just sitting there for so long, completely taken in by the rain. And when it thundered, one of us would rush to you, hold you close so you wouldn’t be scared.
Yesterday, no one needed comforting. There was no you to hold.
It was another one of those moments that reminded us—you’re not here.
It hurts so much that life keeps moving, and you’re not a part of it anymore.
Later at night, we went for a walk. And I bumped into one of my cake customers. She saw the three of us and smiled, then asked, “Hey, where’s your little one?” She didn’t know.
I had to tell her. And in that moment, I relived it all again—
That night.
The night the doctor told me your heart had stopped beating.
The night everything changed.
Yet again, I felt you slipping away.
Yet again, the loss crashed into me.
Yet again, I realised we were no longer four. We are three.
Will I ever stop missing you?
Will there ever be a moment where you’re not on my mind?
I don’t know. I don’t think I ever will.
But what I know for sure is this—
I will love you forever, with every breath I take.
Love you, Shona.