In the past week I have forgotten deadlines, appointments, preschool homework, what day it is and my place on the other side of a conversation.
I have tried, I am trying, to be here.
I have written words to remind myself about luck and love and tucking away memories and I have gotten out of bed.
The date is following me like a cartoon cloud only carrying rain over one unfortunate character. In two weeks it will be five years since I last held my daughter.
If I said I want to be present and busy myself to get through these days I would be lying.
I want to be alone with my memories, with my husband piecing the days back together. I want to walk through it all over and over again, even though the ending will never change. I want to look at her pictures and remember how real she was, how perfectly mine.
I want off the hook for everything, no question-answering, no lunch-making, no hard-to-shape smiles.
All is not well, not right now. It was and soon it will be again but right now the ache is physical. My brain is as tired as my heart and I want to tuck them in as I do my children each night and let them rest for a while.
And then I want to stomp around and match my three year-old’s best tantrum over the unfairness of it all. I want answers to unanswerable questions and a life I will never have.
I want to close my eyes and open them to a family complete.
But a heart once broken can only be mended if you’re holding all the pieces.
P.S. I know this post is raw and you may not know what to say and that’s okay. Sharing my daughter here, knowing you are reading and might have her short life in your mind while you scroll through my words is enough. It truly is.
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