January 26, 2024 Today marked another day since you've been gone, aboh. It's surreal, standing here by your grave, seeing your name etched into the stone, yet still unable to fully grasp the reality of your absence. How can you be gone when it feels like you're still here, lingering in the corners of my mind and in every familiar corner of our home? But even as I grapple with this disbelief, I'm confronted with the harsh truth each time my body betrays me. The numbness from the medication seems to cocoon me from the rawness of my emotions, yet my physical self bears the weight of my grief in ways I can't ignore. Headaches throb incessantly, my appetite vanishes, and the fatigue is unrelenting. It's as if my body is rebelling against the numbness, desperately trying to feel something, anything, to validate this loss. I miss you, Aboh. More than words can express. Each day without you feels like navigating through a thick fog, unsure of where to step next or how to move forward. But amidst the pain and confusion, there's a flicker of solace in knowing that even though you're physically gone, your presence lives on in the memories we shared and the love that still binds us together. I wish I could find the words to convey the depth of my sorrow, but for now, all I can do is hold onto the fragments of you that remain within me and try to make sense of this new reality we find ourselves in. Until we meet again, rest in peace, aboh.. Forever missing you, Adek