Miss you bub

It still feels surreal to say it aloud: Samuel Edward Hensley, my beloved bub, is really gone. December 14, 2020, is a date etched forever in my heart, marking the day my world shifted irrevocably. I often look at his memorial card, seeing that familiar smiling young man in his cap, the blurred motocross riders in the background hinting at his adventurous spirit. The caption, 'You are really gone bubby,' still hits hard every single time. He was born on July 31, 1998, and though his time with us was far too short, his impact was immeasurable. In the immediate aftermath, a heavy cloud of 'what ifs' settled over me. There were so many things I wished I had done, so many moments I wished I had seized. Getting my GED, for instance. It was always on my to-do list, a promise I'd made to myself and, in a way, to him. I envisioned him cheering me on at graduation. Then there was getting my license. The freedom it represented, the independence – I imagined us taking spontaneous road trips, or him just seeing me drive off confidently. And trade school for welding? That was a dream we often talked about, the idea of building something tangible, creating with my hands. I often wonder what Samuel would say if he knew I hadn't pursued these things sooner. The regret felt like a physical weight. For a long time, grief held me captive. It was hard to imagine a future, let alone act on past aspirations. But somewhere along the line, a different thought began to emerge through the fog of sorrow. What if, instead of dwelling on what could have been, I focused on what *could be*? What if honoring Samuel's memory wasn't about endless tears, but about living a life he would be proud of? A life of purpose, growth, and resilience, mirroring the vibrant spirit of that smiling young man I remember. That's when I decided to turn my regrets into action. It wasn't an overnight decision, and it certainly hasn't been an easy path. There are days when the motivation wanes, when the sheer weight of his absence feels overwhelming. But then I think of Samuel Edward Hensley, I remember his birthdate, July 31, 1998, and his bright energy, and it pushes me forward. Getting my GED is no longer just a personal goal; it's a testament to perseverance. Learning to weld isn't just about a career; it's about building a foundation for my future, just like we used to talk about. And getting my license? That's about gaining the freedom to explore, to live fully, in a way he would have loved. My fiancé has been my absolute rock through all of this. His unwavering support, patience, and encouragement have been invaluable. He reminds me that it's okay to grieve, but also that it's essential to keep moving forward. He helps me study, drives me to appointments, and listens when I need to talk about Samuel. Having someone in my corner makes all the difference, transforming what felt like an impossible task into a tangible reality. It's now well past 2020, and I'm still working on these things, step by careful step. Every small victory, every step closer to these goals, feels like a nod to Samuel. It's a way of keeping his memory alive, not just in my heart, but in the life I'm actively building. This journey isn't just about ticking off a list; it's about healing, finding strength I didn't know I had, and ultimately, transforming profound loss into a powerful catalyst for personal growth. Samuel Edward Hensley, you may be gone, but your spirit continues to guide me.