2025

It is 5:59pm on Wednesday, December 31, 2025. Another year about to be finished that Sonzee never lived. Oh, how my heart still hurts the same as it did back in 2021, after the first year that came and went without her physically present. If only that could change somehow. Just a little something to remove the sharpness would be nice.

2025 was a year that I wrote my fewest blog posts to date, capping it off at a whopping 5. It isn't that I didn't have anything to write, it is more that the redundancy makes me hesitate. The knowledge gained over the years means I am acutely aware of what sitting down to honor my feelings will do. The same pit in my stomach, the same heaviness settling in my chest, the same tears that will flood my eyes, the same pain that I try so hard to keep at bay to continue to be able to function, in similar words of Sonzee's older brother, "it hurts to [write] about her, why would I want to do that?" Fair point sir. 

2025 finished with my 801st blog post being written. I suppose I could celebrate that.

2025 brought another travel hockey season and a pause but restart in competitive gymnastics for Sonzee's siblings. To watch them do what they love but face the challenges they deal with while doing so breaks my heart. There is a plan to it all, sure, but I wish they didn't have to struggle or be dealt with anything negative after all they have had to deal with in their short lives. Sonzee's oldest sister took up band and is playing the guitar. Her little brother is still figuring out if he wants to play ice hockey or soccer. 

2025 brought ant colonies and 2 chickens into the Zaila household. A new renovation (that is still not fully completed), but maybe by the next new years eve blog it will be. 

2025 brought the acceptance of Sonzee's twin girl being accepted to a study abroad program for this spring semester, starting in just 19 days. The concept of going from 5 kids to 4 kids to 3 kids actively living in the house for such a lengthy amount of time has not fully been processed. 

2025 was the year I visited Sonzee the least but spoke to her the most. It was the year she was given the least number of painted rocks, but the year I thought about painting them but not doing them the most. (The thought for sure counts more.) It was the year I still struggled to accurately communicate how many children I have but decided on using -ish if I cared to talk more about her. 

2025 was the year Sonzee turned 10 but will forever be 4 years 11 months and 24 days. 

2025 was the year that Sonzee's death outlived her life. I often wonder how I have to live longer experiencing grieving her than I did at her living her life with her. That won't ever make sense. 

Since I don't have any positive way to finish 2025, I will repost an excerpt from my 2024 New Year's Eve post.

In 2024, I accepted that there’s no "fixing" grief. I came to terms with this in the same way I had to accept that a cure would never make Sonzee an active participant in her own life. I accept grief for what it is: permanent, ever-changing, and woven into the fabric of my existence. I accept that it will influence everything I do, every day. I accept that others, even family members, may never fully grasp the depth of grief’s impact. And I accept that there will always be a void—one that nothing can fill. It’s larger than everything else, and though it sometimes shrinks, it is never gone. It can swell at any moment, without warning, and consume everything. I accept grief, but I don’t like it.