A few hours before dark, eight years ago today, my Makenzie left. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go but the lure of a ballerina photo shoot was too strong to resist. I was sitting at my computer in our little office by the back door as she leaned over and gave me a kiss goodbye. That was it.
Three plus hours later, she left again. This time, her departure was more dramatic — more powerful. Truthfully, she didn’t leave, God ushered her out. A red light. A hitting of the gas and not the brake and in a moment, it was done. She was gone.
Eight years seem like a long time for some. For me, it seems like eight seconds. The pain of the loss of Makenzie has changed, but the ache never goes away. The hole she left isn’t filled by time, it is simply there.
Don’t misunderstand. I’m not writing these words in sadness or sorrow. I don’t tap the keys trying to fight back tears. Those days are done. I pen the remembrance because I have to. Just seeing her name pop from the screen is part of the cathartic healing that is lifelong.
So today, I fight against the monsoon of memories her 18 years has left and I am okay.
(Hippo Campus song about Makenzie. The clock tower at the end shows the time when she died. Video producer had no idea)