Tori (Daughter)

There is a different kind of pain that comes with missing someone who is still alive. It is confusing because you know they are somewhere in this world, living their life, waking up every morning, laughing, eating, sleeping, and making memories, yet they are no longer a part of your everyday life. You can’t grieve them in the traditional sense because they are still here. Instead, you grieve the conversations, the memories, the comfort, and the version of life you had when they were beside you.

Sometimes I wish missing someone came with an ending.

I wish there was a certain amount of time I had to hurt before I could finally say, “I’m okay now.” But it doesn’t work that way. Some days I can go hours without thinking about them, and then something as simple as a song, a place, a smell, or a random memory can bring everything back. Suddenly, I’m reminded of how much I miss them, and it feels like all the progress I thought I had made disappeared in a second.

The hardest part is knowing that I could reach out, but things are not the same anymore.

Their number might still be in my phone. Their pictures might still be on my camera roll. I might still remember exactly how they laughed, how they talked, or the little things they used to do. But having access to someone and having them in your life are two completely different things. Sometimes the person you miss is only a message away, yet emotionally, they can feel a million miles away.

Getting through it means learning how to live with the absence instead of constantly fighting it. I have to remind myself that missing someone does not mean I have to stop living my own life.

I can love someone, miss them, and still choose to take care of myself.

I can appreciate what they meant to me without allowing the memories to keep me stuck in the past. Healing does not mean forgetting them. It means slowly learning how to carry the memories without letting them carry me.

There are days when I still wish things were different. I wish I could go back to certain moments and hold onto them a little longer. I wish I could experience certain conversations again or feel the comfort of knowing that person was there. But I am beginning to understand that sometimes people can be incredibly important to us without remaining in our lives forever. Their absence does not erase what they meant to me, and their leaving does not mean the love was meaningless.

I think getting through missing someone who is still alive is about accepting that I may never stop caring about them, but I can still move forward. I can miss them without chasing them. I can remember them without losing myself in the memories.

I can wish them well from a distance while also wishing myself a life that feels whole again.

Somewhere along the way, I hope the memories become softer. I hope I can think of them without feeling that ache in my chest. I hope I can look back and feel grateful instead of only sad. Until then, I will keep reminding myself that missing someone is not a sign that I am weak or that I am not healing. It simply means they mattered to me.

And maybe one day, I will realize that I survived the hardest part—not because I stopped missing them, but because I learned how to keep going even when I did.