You’d be proud of me now

 You’d be proud of me now.

I still cry sometimes,
but the tears feel different.
They fall softer —
like rain that helps something grow.

I used to think grief was a cage,
that losing you meant I’d never be whole again.
But love has a way of rebuilding us quietly,
turning loss into something luminous.

You taught me that love doesn’t end —
it evolves.
And the ache that once hurt to touch
now feels like a prayer.

Every time I comfort someone else who’s lost their best friend,
I hear your spirit whisper, “That’s my human.”
You helped me learn that the best way to honor love
is to keep giving it away.

Now, the pain I carry isn’t just sadness.
It’s gratitude,
wrapped in the memory of every heartbeat we shared.

You turned my grief into grace —
a reminder that every ending carries light,
and that love, even broken,
is still holy.

Thank you for changing me.
For loving me so deeply
that even my sorrow became something beautiful.