I don’t want to write this. And yet, I must. My heart cries out in longing for the friend I lost. I think to myself that writing about her will help the healing and grieving process. There’s something about expressing everything I feel by translating it into words that somewhat bandages the wounds. But the words themselves are not enough.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, there just are no words.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

<\/p>\n

I wrote the actual tribute below shortly after Jaclynnette passed away one week before Thanksgiving. It took me a while to sit down and write it, because there was something more final about her death by putting it into words. I put off writing because I had already hurt so much. I didn’t want to jump back in the waters of grief again, knowing the feeling of a tight chest, unable to breathe from the grief. Somehow though, I wrote it. And then I put off publishing it. I know I don’t have to. This is one of those things that I can keep just for myself, and that’s okay. The world doesn’t necessarily need to see these words. But I felt, again, that by publishing it, I could let go, whatever that means. I would have more closure than I did by simply writing it.<\/p>\n

Except I won’t. <\/em><\/p>\n

I won’t ever be able to fully “let go.” If I’m honest, I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget. I won’t ever have total closure. And I know that by publishing it, I will submit myself to feeling everything all over again, even though part of me is tired of feeling.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

But for those who were closest to her, they don’t have a choice. They feel it every day. And every day, grief crushes their soul just a little more than it did the day before. Because every day, they are reminded again that she will not come bouncing in the door with a story to share. Jace, Kadin, Rhyston, Davin, and the rest of her family and friends will never have “closure.” Not on this earth.<\/p>\n\n\t\t