June 23, 2023. Three years later, you would be so proud of our children.

Nicco finished Senior High School and is now about to enter his second year of college. Gabby is graduating this July 23. Finishing off college.

I often imagine you in the audience, smiling that smile of yours, taking photos, bragging about her to everyone who would listen.

The house is different now, too.

Aimee is eight years old and still follows us around like she owns the place. Gabby brought home Kimmie, a little black puspin. Nicco brought home Frankie, a black Persian cat. Somehow, our home became filled with paws, whiskers, scattered fur, and little reminders that life continues to make room for love.

This year brought more changes.

I lost my job in January. In March, we packed our lives into boxes and left the home we shared in Mandaluyong. Closing that chapter hurt more than I expected. Every wall, every corner, every ordinary space carried a memory of you.

Now we live in a rented two-story house not far away.

A different house.

A different life.

A different version of me.

Yet every day, I still carry you with me.

You have missed so much.

You missed graduations.
You missed birthdays.
You missed new pets, new homes, new struggles, and new victories.

But the truth is, you never really left our conversations.

Your name still finds its way into our everyday stories. We still laugh about things you used to say. We still wonder what advice you would have given. We still talk about you as if you had just stepped out of the room and might walk back in at any moment.

Sometimes, when life becomes too heavy, I still look for you.

Not in photographs.
Not in old messages.

But in the quiet spaces between memories and prayers.

Three years later, I am still learning how to live in a world where you no longer exist, while carrying a love that never left. 🤍💜🪽