They were just babies, not even two.
I’m not sure they even can begin to understand the loss.
But that was 15 years ago. And we can’t get back what was lost, but we can go forward.
She was young, only 33, when she was snatched from our lives. From their lives.
I wondered today, as I sat with them for the first time since those dark days after her death – was she proud of them? Of the young men they were becoming?
It was raw. Memories surfaced. Churned. Stories were shared. Births. Deaths. Illnesses. Marriages. All things I was there for, but that they were not. Family that they don’t even know. Faceless names, churning about, impossible for them to track.
They’re part of a large, close family, yet they’re not.
Not life, but death, got in the way. Emotions, harsh and raw, created a barrier that was to hard for anyone to cross.