I resolve to take you with me into the new year and then every day after that.
I’ll hold onto memories of you, each a separate thread connected to our life together. I’ll jumble them up into a ball, so I’m not constantly getting tangled in the past. But I’ll make sure I can still pull out a single string whenever I want to remember.
I resolve to talk to other people about you. I’ll tell someone who never knew you about the type of person you were. I’ll ask those who knew you to share their stories with me.
I’ll sing the songs you used to sing. I’ll watch the movies you loved. I’ll say the phrases you used to say, and after I’ll tell someone standing nearby, “my mom always used to say that.”
I’ll imagine what you’d be like if you were still alive today. What would you say to me if we could talk about kids, relationships, religion, and politics? I’ll wonder if I would agree with your opinion, but when it comes time to make an important decision, I’ll always take the advice I imagine you’d give.
I will play both parts of our relationship because you cannot speak for yourself, and I’ll accept this one-sided, unrequited love because it’s all there is. I will be happy with what I have left of you but feel sad for what I’ve lost. And this grief loop will play on repeat forever, and I will be okay with that.
I resolve to do these things this year, just as I’ve done every year since you died. And I won’t apologize or feel foolish for doing any of it because there is no right or wrong way to love someone who’s died.
And I love you still.
Authored by ELEANOR HALEY
