Nothing’s Forever, and That’s the Part That Hurts

When you are forced to let go, the truth arrives without warning: life does not promise permanence. It never has. It just waits until you are attached enough to feel the loss. I learned that early. I learned it repeatedly. I learned it through absence.

I began repeating a quiet mantra years ago, when love first began leaving this world. Remember the past. Create the future. Love always. Nothing’s forever. At the time, it felt like a grounding truth. Now it feels more like a survival instinct.

She arrived weighing barely five pounds, a fragile miracle with strawberry-blonde hair, ten perfect fingers, ten perfect toes, and a button nose that fit gently into the curve of my thumb. Then she left just as quietly. Cold. Purple. Gone somewhere I hope was kinder than here.

Nothing’s forever.

She carried entire lifetimes in her face—years shaped by hardship, laughter, resilience, and grace. Crow’s feet framed her eyes, not as marks of age but as proof of joy. Lines rested around her smile like punctuation marks in a story well told. Time had written itself across her features, yet somehow, she never seemed old. Silver hair fell into her eyes, and on that final day, the familiar twinkle faded.

Nothing’s forever.

Memories blur, but they do not disappear. Stories remain—tales of rebellion, love that burned brightly but briefly, classrooms filled with young minds she nurtured, and quiet encouragement given to souls who had nearly given up. She lived with one foot grounded and the other forever chasing new roads. Her final journey carried her somewhere beyond all of them.

Nothing’s forever.

There was always wonder in her. A brightness that felt endless. Eyes that reflected the night sky—steady, luminous, reassuring. Music lived in her laughter. Joy followed her movement. Her light never seemed to dim, which made the darkness that followed feel cruel. She was too young for tragedy. A final hug. A final kiss. A soft “I love you.” A promise to see each other later. And suddenly, a wound so wide it still echoes.

Nothing’s forever.

My first love. My anchor. My heart’s earliest understanding of safety. You gave wisdom freely, offered forgiveness without conditions, and loved in ways that never asked to be earned. You taught me more than anyone ever could, and still, I feel unprepared to exist without you. I wasn’t ready. I still need you. Please don’t go. This has to be a nightmare.

Nothing’s forever.

We lived our days simply—fishing lines cutting quiet water, boots muddy from fields and barns, hands busy raising animals and chasing chickens until sunset blurred the sky. Life feels dull without you here, stripped of its rhythm. But I imagine a lake somewhere beyond this world. I imagine you there, fishing pole in hand. Save a spot. I’ll find you eventually.

Nothing’s forever.

Momma, my heart is breaking in ways I don’t have language for. The tears keep falling, uninvited and unending. Where are you when I need you most? How do I move forward without your voice guiding me? How do I finish learning what you never had time to teach? I call out anyway, hoping somehow you hear me. Hug Papa and Pappy for me. Tell them I miss them.

Nothing’s forever.

Eight losses. Eight goodbyes. And somehow, it never becomes easier. The weight only grows heavier, stacking grief upon grief until the sky feels permanently overcast. I live in memory—maybe too much, maybe not enough. I can’t tell anymore. I love deeply, even knowing the cost. I cling to the past while struggling to imagine a future, stumbling through darkness toward a light I trust exists, even if I can’t see it yet.

I remember.
I love.
I try to move forward.

Because nothing is forever.
And somehow, we keep going anyway.