For decades, Weston was the essence of my existence — the center of my universe, the reason I woke up each day with purpose. Every decision I made revolved around him. I dedicated my life to ensuring he had everything he needed, even when it meant setting aside my own needs. Caring for him became more than a responsibility; it became the rhythm of my heart.
But deep inside, buried beneath years of quiet strength, there was a sadness I rarely allowed anyone to see. It lingered in the back of my mind like a faint hum that never quite went silent. For the longest time, I managed to keep it there — tucked away, hidden behind determination and love. But as the years have passed, it’s grown harder to ignore.
When you’ve lived eight decades, time takes on a different texture. You begin to feel its weight pressing down on your shoulders, reminding you that the best years — the years filled with laughter, chaos, and purpose — have slipped quietly into memory. What lies ahead isn’t the world you once imagined, but a quieter, lonelier landscape where echoes of the past linger like whispers.
I’ll get to see Weston this weekend — just a few hours that now feel like gold. There was a time when every day revolved around him, when his presence filled the house with meaning and motion. I built my life around his needs. When Joyce and Emily took trips, I stayed behind to care for him. I managed his affairs, planned his days, made sure everything was in order. That was my calling — to protect him, to love him, to make sure he was safe.
And now…
he’s gone.
He’s gone.
And it will never be the same.
It’s hard to put into words the emptiness that follows a lifetime of devotion. The silence that settles in afterward isn’t just quiet — it’s heavy. It carries memories of laughter, tears, routines, and prayers whispered in the dark. I sometimes wonder if those of us who give everything away in love are meant to carry a different kind of burden in the end — the ache of absence.
Yet through the sorrow, I hear a gentle truth: nothing given in love is ever lost. Even in grief, there’s grace. Even in loss, there’s purpose. Weston’s life, and the years I spent by his side, shaped me into the man I am today — one who understands what it truly means to give, to endure, and to cherish every fleeting moment.
Cherish every moment.
You never realize how precious the “ordinary” days are until they’re gone forever.
Faith Reflection — Victory Through Defeat
In my quiet moments of reflection, I see now that God’s hand was in every chapter — even in the ones written with tears. What I once saw as loss, I now understand as transformation. Through every sleepless night, every moment of heartbreak, and every unanswered question, God was shaping my heart to understand the true meaning of love — sacrificial, unconditional, eternal.
The victory wasn’t in keeping Weston here with me; it was in learning to let go and trust that God’s plan was greater than my own. Through defeat came a deeper faith, a renewed spirit, and a quiet peace that passes all understanding. It’s in that surrender that strength is born — strength forged in fire, refined by pain, and redeemed by grace.
The Weight of Time
“Love is not measured by how long we hold on,
but by how deeply we let go when God calls us to.”
— Greg Wyatt
“In every ending, there is a beginning — and in every loss, a hidden victory.”
— From Ashes to Armor
Coming soon….
