The Beacon: 2023 06/04

As I continue to navigate the depths of grief, I have realized that my hoarding tendencies have taken on a new meaning. Now, every scrap of paper, every scribbled note, and every article of clothing is a treasure to me. They are the tangible pieces of my daughter's life that I cling to, hoping to keep her memory alive.

But as much as I try to hold on to these physical mementos, I know that they are not enough. They cannot replace the sound of her voice or the warmth of her embrace. They cannot bring her back to me. And yet, I cannot bear to let them go.

In many ways, my hoarding has become a coping mechanism. It allows me to hold on to the past to keep my daughter close to me, even if only in a tattered notebook or a faded t-shirt.

But I know that I cannot continue like this forever. I cannot let my grief consume me or dictate every aspect of my life. So, slowly but surely, I have begun to let go. To sort through the piles of memories and keep only the most meaningful ones. To donate her clothes to charity, recycle old artwork, and create space for new memories.

It is not easy, but I know it is necessary. As I let go of the physical clutter, I am also learning to let go of the emotional chaos that has weighed me down for so long. The guilt, the regret, the what-ifs, and the should-haves have haunted me since my daughter's passing. 

It is a slow and painful process, but I know it is necessary to move forward. And as I do, I hold on to the faith that has sustained me. The knowledge that my daughter is in a better place, at peace, and that we will be reunited one day again.
I may never fully understand why this had to happen, why I had to lose my precious Texa so soon. But I know that God has a plan for me and is with me every step of the way, holding me up when I cannot stand alone. And so, I will continue to walk this road of grief, one step at a time, holding on to my daughter's memories and the hope of a brighter tomorrow.