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.
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.
