CW: Death
Pam passed away on Wednesday morning. Since then, I have found myself noticing things that feel like her. Not in a mystical way, but in the quiet, everyday moments where memory lives.
She drank Coca-Cola every single day. It was her signature. That familiar red logo, the sound of a bottle cap twisting off, the fizz rising to the top of the bottle, it is all her.
I see it now and feel a pang of recognition, like she is still nearby. Something so ordinary has become sacred. Coca-Cola is no longer just a drink. It is a reminder of her joy, her routine, her presence.
Yesterday, I walked into a convenience store and saw a bottle of Diet Coke. I was not expecting it to hit me the way it did. But there it was, sitting on the shelf like it always had, and suddenly I was tearing up. It was not just a drink. It was her. That bottle held a thousand memories. In that moment, grief showed up quietly, disguised as something familiar.
Hand sanitizer makes me think of her care and love of cleanliness. She was the kind of person who noticed what made you feel safe and loved.
She showed up when I was grieving. She remembered the things that comforted me. Her love was quiet and constant. She did not need grand gestures to make you feel seen. She simply paid attention.
Jelly Belly jellybeans were one of her favorite candies. She loved the variety, the surprise of each flavor, the simple delight they brought. Now, when I see them, I think of her sweetness and her attention to detail. She remembered my favorite foods, my birthday, the things that made me feel proud. Each jellybean feels like a memory.
These signs are subtle, but they speak. They remind me that Pam’s love was woven into the fabric of daily life. And now, those threads are what bring her back to me.
She believed in me before I knew how to believe in myself. She showed up again and again with kindness, with care, with joy. And even though she is gone, these signs remain.
When I see these things from now on, I will forever think of her. Thank you, Pam, for everything you did for me.