no one word heavy enough

I can't hear your voice any more. I can't remember what it sounded like. Your face is still there, tucked in my memory, but the one photo I saved helps with that. You'd have said "I told ya so" if you were here - after all the years of pictures I took, you calling me "camera crazy", making you smile every time... All those pictures, and only the one remains. But they can see you, as they grow, and never forget you, because of that one. Their daddy, their father, their hero. I miss you constantly. My rock. But you gave your life so that we may live, and I will honor that by not letting any of us die inside, because of all of this. Too much change too fast, can that be called "trauma"? There is no one word heavy enough for what we just survived. Maybe there will be someday, but not yet.