The Q life Grief Journey

There are words that linger long after they’re spoken, soft echoes that settle into the heart and stay there. For me, it’s the sound of Quinten’s voice saying, “I love you, Momma.”

He said it often. It wasn’t something he saved for special occasions or dramatic moments; it was just part of who he was. Whether he was heading out the door, finishing a phone call, or telling him goodnight at the end of the day, those were the words he left me with. Simple, steady, and full of love.

Even at 34, my youngest child, my only boy, was still a Momma’s boy, and he never tried to hide it. There was a sweetness in that, a tenderness that time never took away. No matter how grown he became, that bond between us stayed just as strong, just as gentle.

The morning of the day he passed away, he said it one last time. I didn’t know then how precious those words would become, how they would echo in my heart in the quiet hours when I miss him most. I still hear them, sometimes in memory, sometimes in the stillness of the day as if he’s reminding me he’s close.

There’s comfort in that. Because love like that doesn’t end; it simply takes on a new form. It finds new ways to reach you in a moment of peace, a warm memory, a whisper when you need it most.

And though I can’t hear his voice the way I used to, I carry those words with me always:

I love you, Momma.
The most beautiful words he ever gave me.