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Puzzle piece

Anonymous, 2024

My life shattered into a million pieces, the day you died.

Like a brand new puzzle you dumped on the kitchen table; pieces everywhere.

Have you ever tried putting a puzzle together with gloves on? Blindfolded?

As the months would pass, I would start to have clusters of pieces connected.

Almost able to see my life again.

My life with you still in it.

My life before you took your last breath.

CRASH. BAM. BOOM.

A holiday.

A birthday.

A random Tuesday.

The days I missed you a little extra.

My little clusters would shatter again.

I was no longer able to see my old life again.

The puzzle pieces were scattered on the table.

How do I get back to my old life?

Can I?

I was trying to piece together something that will never be the same.

I will always be missing one piece to my puzzle; to my life.

You.

I must take those millions of pieces and start something new.

The gloves come off.

The blindfold is lifted.

I needed to start living my life without you.

We will not be creating memories.

You are now a memory.

My life looks different now.

I put the puzzle back in the box and open a new one.

The pieces are cut the same way.

They fit together the same way.

The clusters start to connect.

This isn’t the puzzle I wanted to put together.

But this is my life now.

This puzzle is for you to see.

To be proud of.

RIP Dad. Forever missed.