The World Says "It's Been Eight Years...

... you can forget."

My heart screams back, "NEVER."

When my Dad told me the news that Friday afternoon, I felt my body and my spirit split in two.

My mind floated above my body, numbly observing it crumpled on the floor, groaning under the weight of the most agonizing grief I'd ever experienced.

And at that moment, I thought that I would never be whole again.

But I learned that time does heal wounds.

I learned that the anguish that made it impossible to eat for days, eventually dulled.

The tears that were constantly on my cheeks, eventually dried.

I also learned that in choosing to live my life to the full, it honors her memory.

I've learned to smile instead of cry every time I put my perfume on, and to say her name in conversation, even when it seems awkward.

I've learned that grief goes from a piercing stab to a dull ache to a sweet savor.

That some days I can't remember what her laugh sounded like, and I panic.

But that on other days I remember something I'd forgotten, and it brings renewed happiness.

This summer we went to visit her... and I learned that it's harder than I thought it would be to kneel at the gravestone of a precious friend, brushing debris from the surface.

But I've also learned that friendship goes beyond death, and the countless tears I've cried will be replaced with sweet gales of laughter when we're reunited.

Someday.