I still mother them….

Today was one of those days where grief and life lived right next to each other.

Adriano cooked fried apples today. They were one of Gab’s favorites, and he had never had them before. He stood there and made them himself, and then he tried apple pie for the first time too.

There are moments now that probably wouldn’t mean much to anybody else, but they stop me in my tracks.

Watching Gab’s son cook something his mom loved was one of them.

Then my girlfriend had given me a bag of clothes for him to go through, and this kid found a pair of Alo pants in there and you would have thought he hit the lottery. 😂 He was SO excited. For that moment, he was just a 13-year-old kid excited about a really good find in a bag of clothes.

And I loved seeing that.

But today was also a really emotional day for him.

He was angry. Really angry.

And at one point I sat down with him and said, “I know you’re mad, but I’m not the person to be mad at. There’s nobody to be mad at. And if you don’t think I miss her too, you’re wrong. I miss her every single day.”

That was hard to say.

Because I know his anger comes from missing his mom. And I know there is absolutely nothing I can say that will make that hurt go away.

But I also need him to understand that I’m hurting too.

We are all trying to figure out how to live in a world that looks completely different than it did before April 3rd.

So I told him, “We just need to work together and try to learn how to live together.”

And I think maybe that’s where we are right now.

Learning.

He’s learning how to be 13 without his mom.

I’m learning how to be his Nonna while grieving my daughter and trying to help carry two of the most important pieces she left behind.

Some days we are going to get it right. Some days we probably won’t.

Some days there will be anger and tears and conversations that hurt like hell.

And some days there will be fried apples.

There will be a first bite of apple pie.

There will be a pair of Alo pants hiding in a bag of donated clothes that makes a 13-year-old ridiculously happy.

There will still be laughter.

There will still be new memories.

And somehow, woven through all of it, there will always be Gab.

I watched her son cook her favorite fried apples today.

Maybe that sounds like such a little thing.

To me, it wasn’t little at all.

I love you, Gab.

We’re learning. ❤️