Grief Journal, Day 4: She’s Still Here

trigger warning: child loss, grief, death

Grief is strange. It’s heavy and hollow at the same time.

It’s been 4 days since Cassie passed. Four days since the world shifted, and yet, somehow, it kept spinning.

People keep asking how I’m doing. And the truth is, I don’t really know. There’s no clear answer. I’m learning that grief can be loud and quiet. That pain and peace can sit side by side, even in the same breath.

Being home has helped. I feel her in our room, like her spirit lives there now. The part of her I never fully got to hold while she was earthside finally feels close. It’s strange. It’s tender. And almost comforting.

There’s still this deep ache for the life I imagined with her. A lifetime of moments we won’t get. I will always carry that. But alongside the ache, there’s relief. Relief that she’s no longer in pain. That she’s not trapped in a body that failed her. That she’s free.

Free from the machines. Free from the uncertainty.

I miss her with every breath. But I also feel her now in a way I never could before.

She’s in our room.

She’s in the quiet.

She’s not tied to tubes or alarms.

She’s just… love. And she’s everywhere.

I picture her with Daphne. With Dawson. With so many others who love her. She has friends now. She has peace.

And somehow, even in the devastation, that feels like a gift.

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June 8, 2025