There’s a version of me that existed when they were still alive.
I can still picture her—laughing more freely, moving through life with a kind of ease she didn’t even realize she had.
She didn’t know how fragile everything really was.
She didn’t know that one phone call, one diagnosis, one final breath could change her forever.
I’m not her anymore.
But I haven’t quite figured out who I am now, either.
And that’s the gap.
That strange, quiet space between who I used to be and who I’m becoming.
It’s filled with memories I can’t let go of and questions I don’t know how to answer.
I’m living in the in-between—still tethered to the past but slowly learning how to breathe in the present.
Grief has carved out pieces of me I didn’t even know existed.
Some days I feel lost in it.
Other days I catch small glimpses of the new version of me—wiser, softer, stronger in ways I never asked to be.
But mostly, I just miss them.
And I miss the me I was when they were still here.
So, if you’re here too, trying to make sense of this version of yourself that doesn’t quite fit yet—
I see you.
This gap isn’t a failure.
It’s the sacred space where healing begins.
Where identity shifts.
Where love and loss coexist.
You’re not broken.
You’re becoming.
And even in the gap, you are never alone.
If these words connected with you, you’ll find many more like them in What Remains. It’s a collection of the writings I’ve shared over the years, bringing together reflections on grief, love, loss, and the connections that continue long after someone is gone.
I hope it brings you comfort, understanding, and the reminder that you’re not alone.
If you’d like to read more, you can find the book here
Available now on Amazon