Still Missing Laura: The Quiet Moments That Stay With Me

It’s been over nine months since Laura passed, and while I’m feeling better, the ache of missing her is still very much alive. Some days feel lighter, but others—especially the quiet ones—remind me how much she’s gone.

One of the hardest times is when I’m driving home from work. Laura and I used to talk in the car on those rides—sometimes about nothing, sometimes about everything. It was a small, sacred part of my day that always felt safe and real. Now, those moments are filled with silence, and it hits me all over again.

I find myself talking to her in those moments, quietly carrying on the conversations we never got to finish. Sometimes it feels like she’s right there beside me, other times the emptiness is overwhelming. It’s strange how grief can feel so present and invisible at the same time.

Losing Laura wasn’t just about losing a friend; it was like losing a part of myself. We’d been connected for decades, through all the twists and turns of life. Her kindness and acceptance shaped how I see the world—and how I try to live in it.

I’ve learned that grief doesn’t have an expiration date. It doesn’t disappear just because time moves on. It settles into the spaces we least expect and shapes the way we move forward. For me, that means holding onto the memories, the shared moments, and the quiet strength Laura always carried.

If you’re navigating loss too, know that it’s okay to have days that don’t feel okay. It’s okay to miss someone deeply, and to keep talking to them in your heart. Grief is messy, and it’s slow, but it also reminds us how much love there was—and still is.

Today, I’m grateful for Laura’s presence in my life—past, present, and in the silent conversations yet to come.