Four Years Later

The month of April has become a difficult month for me and for everyone who knew Kathy. This is the month she would have turned 29… and it also marks four years since she passed away. Time keeps moving forward, but the weight of missing her never really leaves. Some days feel especially heavy, others a little quieter, but every day carries her absence in its own way.

This year, we went to our local park to honor her birthday, the place that still feels like it holds pieces of her everywhere. It’s where we walked with her for hundreds of miles, talking about nothing and laughing about everything. Where we exercised, explored nature paths, had picnics, and created so many beautiful memories together. We sang “Happy Birthday” to her there, and for a moment, it felt like we were close to her again.

I find myself imagining who she would be today. I picture her fluent in French and Spanish, living somewhere in Europe, chasing her dreams, and maybe even owning her own little pastry shop. I know we would have walked at least two Camino de Santiago treks in Spain together. These dreams feel so real in my mind, like a life that should have been hers.

There are parts of her I miss in ways words can’t fully capture. I miss hearing her voice. I miss seeing her face. I miss simply being in her presence. The pain used to feel sharp, like it was breaking my heart from the inside out. Now it has morphed into something quieter, something that wonders. I wonder what she would sound like today, what she’d be baking in the kitchen, whether she would have long or short hair, and so much more. I wonder if the red cardinals I see around the house are little reminders that she’s still somehow near.

More than anything, I wonder if she knows how deeply she is loved. I love her with every heartbeat, a kind of love that doesn’t fade; it only grows stronger with time.

In the photo above, Kathy was walking somewhere in Spain in 2021.