Before and After

 Grief began long before my daughter died.

In the final year of Jody’s life,
I cried almost every day.
Somewhere deep inside,
I knew I was standing at the edge
of a darkness I had feared.

My body was weary.
My heart already grieving.

Two weeks before she died,
I wrote her a letter.

In it,
I gave her permission
to live her life as she chose—
not the life I prayed for,
or fought so hard to save.

After eight years of trying
to change what was never mine to control,
I finally loosened my grip.

It was the most painful
and loving thing
I have ever done.

The last time I saw Jody
was Christmas of 2006.

She had just become engaged.
There was laughter that day,
a small and fragile hope
that life might still turn gently.

I remember our final kiss
as she walked out the door.

And I remember the strange thought
that passed through me:

Don’t forget this kiss.

As though my body knew
what my heart could not bear.

Then, on December 30th,
the police stood at my door.

There are moments
that divide a life
into before and after.

The darkness I had feared
had arrived.

My daughter was gone.

And life, as I had known it,
ended that day.

Nothing would ever
be the same again.