Letting Go

I did not expect the heartache that came when I finally shut Kelly’s phone down. I had kept it active for almost two years after his passing, partly for work and partly for comfort. I thought I was simply keeping a tool running, but the truth is that I was holding on to a small piece of him. His phone felt like a place where he still lived and where his world still felt close to mine.

When the time came to turn it off, I thought I was ready. Most of the people who would have called him now know he is gone. The practical reasons for keeping it had faded. But the thought of the moment the screen goes dark, creates an ache I did not expect. It feels as if another part of him slipped away. 

Letting it go brought back a heartache that never fully leaves. It reminded me that love does not disappear, and neither does the longing to hold on to anything that carries a trace of the person I miss. I hurt because it feel final. I hurt because it feels like another goodbye. And I hurt because I loved him so deeply that even a small object could hold meaning far beyond its purpose.

Kelly is not in the phone. He is not in the number or the messages or the missed calls. He is in the life we built, the goodness he lived, the way he shaped my heart. He is in the memories that rise without warning and in the strength I find when I think I have none left. He is in the love that did not end when his life did.

Sometimes the things we hold on to are not the person we miss, but the symbol of them. When the moment comes to release the symbol, the love remains. Letting go of what we no longer need does not take anything away. It simply teaches us that the people we love stay with us in deeper and more lasting ways than anything we can hold in our hands.