Even the storms

When we lose our loved ones,
we pray there is life after death.
But when they were here
we sometimes wished for quiet,
imagined life without their nagging
and endless company.

We thought we had forever.
We wondered, is this all it will be?
And yet, those same moments—
the ones that once felt heavy—
become the warmth we carry
if we are lucky enough
to reach old age.

It is the arguments over nothing,
the slammed doors,
the sighs across the dinner table.
It is the way they left the light on,
the shoes in the hallway,
the half-finished stories we swore
we were tired of hearing.

Grief is cruel like that.
It strips away the noise
and leaves us aching
for the very things
we once brushed aside.

So love them loudly now.
Let the irritation pass like weather.
Because one day
you will stand in the silence,
and realise even the storms
were a kind of gift.