Eight Months

It feels impossible that the calendar says eight months, because some days it still feels like yesterday. Other days it feels as though I’ve lived a lifetime without you.

The world kept turning after November 14, 2025, but mine never quite did.

I have learned that grief isn’t something you conquer. It becomes part of the landscape of your life. It sits beside me at the kitchen table, rides with me in the car, and slips into the empty spaces where your laughter used to live.

I miss the ordinary things the most. I miss hearing about your latest adventure. I miss your photographs from places I had only read about. I miss knowing you were somewhere beneath this same sky, loving history, chasing horizons, and finding beauty where most people would simply pass by.

There is an empty chair no one else can fill. You were my firstborn. My teacher. My encourager. My friend. No matter how old you became or how many miles separated us, you were always my little boy.

I still catch myself wanting to tell you something funny or ask your opinion. For just a fleeting moment, my heart forgets. Then reality returns, and I remember that heaven has you for now. But heaven doesn’t have my memories. It doesn’t have the little pieces of you that I carry every day. Your kindness. Your quiet strength. Your adventurous spirit. Your unwavering love for Suha. The way you loved so deeply and so completely. Those belong to us.

I have cried more tears than I knew a person could hold, yet somehow love keeps making room for more. That’s the strange miracle of a mother’s heart. Death may silence a voice, but it cannot silence love. I know this isn’t goodbye. It’s the longest “I’ll see you later” I’ve ever had to live.

So, until the Lord calls me home, I’ll keep looking toward the horizon, just as you taught me. I’ll keep telling your story. I’ll keep loving your beautiful Suha. I’ll keep living a life that would make you smile. And when my own journey is finished, I know you’ll be there. What a day that will be.

Until then…

I love you beyond words.

I miss you beyond measure.

And I carry you with me every single day.

I love you, Greggor.

Mom

Copyright © Joy M. Mills 2026

MJM (TM)