Nobody puts baillee in the corner

It’s like my body knows when your anniversary is creeping in before my brain catches on. 

This has been the hardest year without you yet. 

I want to celebrate so many victories with you—both mine and the ones of my friends you loved like your own children. 

I’ve picked up my phone so many times to call you, only for reality to sink in. 

I want to tell you all about some of the new friendships I’ve made because there are so many people you’d love. 

I want to talk about what I’m watching and have you ask questions about shows you’ll never watch. 

I’d love to start discussing my birthday way too early and how you plan to come visit. 

I’d even give anything to get your opinion on the Buffy reboot. 

I just wish you were here. 

The thing about grief is that it never fully goes away; you simply learn how to cope and adapt. 

I never thought I’d be where I am in life without the one person who understood me in a way no one else does. 

I want you to hold my friends’ babies and meet their new partners. 

I want you to ask me what I’m writing about and then text me immediately after reading it. 

I want you to experience so many milestones, and it’s so unfair that you can’t. 

It’s always going to feel like a piece of me is missing without you here. 

I try to keep you alive through traditions and stories, but it’ll never be the same. 

I know you’d be so proud of me, but it hurts that I can’t hear you say it out loud. 

I’m so happy that I had the time with you, but no amount of time would’ve ever been enough. 

I love you, Ma. 

For KP, for always. 🖤