10

“Grief never ends… but it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay.”

– Hollye Jacobs

Ten.

A simple number, but one that carries so much meaning. Ten represents completion—a full cycle, a milestone, a marker of time that asks us to pause and look back before moving forward.

Today marks ten years since Aaron passed away.

Ten years.

A decade of birthdays, graduations, holidays, accomplishments, disappointments, laughter, tears, and ordinary Tuesdays that somehow mattered. Ten years of learning how to live with an absence that never truly leaves. Ten years of carrying grief while simultaneously carrying life forward.

When Aaron died, Rahmil, Rahsaan, & Aryn still needed their dad. Our sons and our daughter deserved years of advice, encouragement, protection, and love from him. Instead, they have spent the past ten years growing up with memories, stories, photographs, and the echoes of what might have been.

He missed so much. He is missed so much.

He missed watching our children reach milestone after milestone. He wasn't there for the celebrations, the achievements, the difficult lessons, the moments that made us proud, and even the moments that broke our hearts. He didn't get to see the people they are becoming. He didn't get to offer guidance as they navigated challenges or stand beside them as they stepped into new chapters of their lives.

And yet, his presence has never completely disappeared.

His name is spoken often. His values remain. His influence lives on in our children—in the way they think, the qualities they possess, and the strength they show every day.

The last ten years have brought more loss than I ever imagined possible. We have not only grieved Aaron. We have also said goodbye to friends and family members who have left us along the way. Each loss has added another layer to an already heavy journey. Grief has a way of reminding us that love and loss are forever connected.

Yet this story is not only about what we have lost.

It is also about those who stayed.

To our village: thank you.

Thank you to the family members, friends, neighbors, mentors, teachers, and loved ones who stepped in when we needed support. Thank you to those who checked on us, prayed for us, showed up for celebrations, stood beside us in difficult moments, and refused to let us walk this road alone. There are no words sufficient enough to express how much your love has meant to us over these ten years.

You helped raise our children. You helped fill gaps that could never truly be filled. You reminded us that even in our darkest moments, we were never abandoned.

Ten years later, I can honestly say that grief has changed me, but it has not defeated me.

Moving forward is not the same as moving on. I will never move on from Aaron. He was too important, too loved, too woven into the fabric of our lives. But I have learned how to move forward. I have learned how to carry both sorrow and joy. I have learned that healing does not mean forgetting.

Our children continue to miss their father's presence and guidance. There are still moments when we wish we could pick up the phone and call him, ask for his advice, hear his laugh, or simply have one more conversation. That longing never fully disappears.

But they are persevering.

They are building lives, pursuing dreams, overcoming obstacles, and becoming strong, resilient individuals. I know Aaron would be proud of them. I know he would marvel at their growth, celebrate their accomplishments, and encourage them to keep reaching higher.

So today, on this tenth anniversary, I honor both the pain and the progress.

Ten years of missing. Ten years of surviving. Ten years of growing. Ten years of remembering. Ten years of love that death could not erase.

And as I reflect on the meaning of ten—completion—I realize this chapter is not ending. Rather, it is completing one season and opening another. Aaron's story in our lives continues through the people he loved most.

We carry him with us.

Always.

-KJKT