14/11/2025
I was driving Jas home last night and he suddenly started talking about Audrie, wondering why she’s not giving him more signs and I told him that she's likely very busy up there like she was down here. He smiled. I also smiled. I gave him space to reminisce and I just listened. We talked about death, about what hurts, about what helps. He told me he finds comfort knowing she died quickly and didn’t suffer. And he compared it to something far worse, and I could see him trying to make sense of the world with the tools he has. He knows the facts, but he still hangs on to the magic. After a while he looked at me and said “Do you think maybe she’s not really dead and she just ran away and she’ll come back?”
And my whole heart cracked wide open.
He’s 13. Old enough to understand death, but still young enough to hold onto that tiny, impossible hope that maybe the universe made a mistake. That maybe she’ll walk through the door again. And honestly? I get it.
This morning in our group chat I shared that it feels like this big hole inside my chest. Some mornings it hits so hard it’s like vertigo.. this sudden awareness of the empty space where someone used to be. That space that nothing, truly nothing, can ever fill. My mom said when it happens to her, she pauses, breathes, and sends love to Audrie. Not to fill the void, but to soften the edges of it. I love that so much.
So here’s my truth: grief doesn’t get easier. You never move on. You just keep going. You let the moment wash over you. You breathe. You send love. And the world keeps spinning, and you learn to spin with it. Grief in one hand, love in the other. Both true. Both yours.
💕
