Yesterday marked four years since Nick went to heaven. I find myself calling him “Nicky” more often now—a name I hadn’t used for him since he was a child. I wonder if it reflects that in some ways he is becoming dearer to my heart and younger to my mind. After all, I keep aging while he remains locked in time. I will soon celebrate a birthday for the fourth time since that day, yet he has celebrated none. The gap between us widens by the day.
A lot has changed in four years. And a lot has remained the same. The pain is much easier to bear after almost 1,500 days of practice. I would be surprised to learn that a single day has gone by that I have not thought of Nick and not missed him. But the very hard days come less frequently now and the almost-too-much-to-bear days are few and far between. It still doesn’t take much to make me cry when I think about him, or when I see a father hugging his son, or when I think of his first nephew being born without ever meeting or knowing his
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