Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Eight years

Eight years with no mom.

Eight years.

That doesn't sound like a big deal, if you haven't lived it yourself. If you have lived it, you know.

It's more than a big deal. It's huge and painful and sad.

It's hitting me harder this year than last year; it hurt then too, but it's more of that hollow ache that drags you down this year. I don't know why.

Whatever the reason, I hurt. A lot. I want everyone and everything to go away. I can't think of the work I have to do, which makes it harder and adds to the urge to shove it all away. I just keep thinking about it and wishing.

What if the doctor was right and she wouldn't have died if she hadn't taken me out for my birthday?

And why didn't I take a few seconds to kiss her goodbye before running out of the car?

Why didn't I understand what the other doctor was telling me?

Why? Why? Why?

I hurt.