I still mother them….

How many kids do you have?

I still have two kids. That answer never changes. Sometimes people ask how old they are and I still find myself pausing for a second because there is no easy way to answer anymore. The part strangers never really want to hear is that one is 23 forever and one is 35 forever. One is gone almost nine years and one just a few short weeks. But they are still mine. I am still their mom. Death does not stop that. It never will.

Before I came on this vacation, I asked them for signs that they were with me. Just something. Anything. Twenty-three has always been mine and Vincent’s number. Our number. And somehow I saw it everywhere this week. The kind of everywhere that makes you stop for a second and think maybe this is not random after all. Then there was the dragonfly that followed me around almost all week. Now listen, Gab knows I do not love bugs, so if that was her choice she is probably laughing somewhere because she knows I was looking at that dragonfly suspiciously the whole time.

This morning standing on the beach knowing I had just watched their ashes drift into the beautiful blue water was hard. Really hard. No matter how many beautiful places I have left pieces of Vincent, no matter how much I believe in bringing them places they would have loved, there is something about turning and walking away that feels impossible every single time. You stand there staring out at the water knowing that what you just let go of is their physical body and somehow your heart still struggles to catch up with what your head already knows.

As I sat there this morning, I thought about all the beautiful places Vincent has been with me and now his sister too. Gabriella was the one who really understood it. She understood why I wanted to leave him in beautiful places because she knew how much he loved them. She knew how much peace the water brought him. She got it in a way most people never could.

And as I watched the current slowly pull them farther from the shore, I found myself thinking they are together. Whole. Healthy. Free from every hard thing they carried here. With the people I love so much that went before them. I like to think they are talking and laughing and finally getting to just be brother and sister again. I like to believe they know how fiercely loved they still are.

Today I get on a plane to go home full of gratitude. Grateful I got to take people I love on this trip. Grateful for the people who have loved me and left this earth and somehow still show up for me in signs and memories. And grateful for the people still here loving me through this journey, even on the days I am hard to love.

Gratitude is a choice. Not because life is easy or grief hurts less. It is choosing to still see the good when your heart has every reason to stay broken open. It is choosing to notice the people, the moments, and the love that still somehow make this life worth living.