I Think About Him All Day Long

I think about my son all day long.

Not just in the quiet moments.

Not just when something reminds me of him.

All day.

He’s behind every conversation I have.

Every person I meet.

Every laugh.

Every pause.

It’s like there’s a second conversation always running… just beneath the one everyone else can hear.

I want to talk about him.

I want to say his name out loud.

I want to tell people who he was… not just how he died.

I want to share the little things. The random things.

The way he laughed. The things he loved. The way he was.

But grief is strange.

It’s not just heavy… it’s quiet in all the wrong places.

I don’t know how much is too much.

I don’t know how often is too often.

I don’t know who actually wants to hear it… and who is just being kind.

So I hold it in more than I want to.

Sometimes I want to tell strangers about him.

The woman standing beside me in line.

The person making my hot chocolate.

Someone passing by who has no idea that my whole world once looked different.

I want to say,

“Did you know my son would have loved this?”

or

“He used to do this…”

But where does that go?

Where does all of that love go

when the world doesn’t always know what to do with it?

I think part of it is this…

I don’t want to forget.

Not the big things.

Those feel engrained into me.

But the small things.

The everyday things.

The tiny, ordinary details that made him him.

Those feel more fragile.

So I carry them.

I replay them.

I hold them tight in my mind…

because I don’t know where else to put them.

Maybe that’s the problem.

We were never given a place to put this kind of love.

So maybe we create one.

A note in your phone.

A journal beside your bed.

Voice memos you keep.

A private page.

A place where you can just… keep talking.

Not for an audience.

Not for permission.

Just so they are still being spoken into the world.

Because you are allowed to talk about them.

As much as you want.

As often as you need.

Love doesn’t disappear.

It just changes where it lives.

And sometimes… it needs somewhere to go.

If you’re holding memories you’re afraid to lose…

you don’t have to keep them trapped inside your head.

You can put them somewhere.

You can keep telling them.

You can keep saying their name.

I will listen.

🤍

If this resonates with you, you’re not alone here.

This is a space where we keep talking about them