2 Months

Baby Girl,

I remember more of my life since you were born than anything that came before. Your life gave fruit to the best part of me, and sometimes I think I lost it when I lost you.

I go to grief counseling, but I resent the people who seem okay. I want them to fall apart like me; I don’t want to hear about how much better their life was this week. I'm not ready to listen to them, even though I long for a time when I can sleep through the night and not wake gasping at the pain of missing you.

I have nightmares all the time. I dream of what is happening to your body now, the waste that is occurring on your beautiful face, down to your bubbly toes. I dream that I am screaming for someone to help you but something is covering my mouth and I can’t tear it off – you stab me at the end of the dream (is that the pain of your loss?). I dream that you turn to smile at me and the skin starts to fall away, starting with your luminous smile. It's the same every night.

I feel like I’m holding my breath, waiting for it to get easier for you to be absent from my life. I’m waiting for the need to scream for you to subside. I’m waiting for something to make sense again. And at the same time, along with this horrible waiting, I am so grateful for every moment of your life; even the most awful ones, because they were part of you and the gift that you were to me.

I cling to your memory like a life preserver. I try to describe the sound of your voice to people who never heard you sing.  I try to paint the picture of your beautiful soul, and the imprint it left on me. 

I know that I borrowed you from heaven and that I had to give you back because it was only a temporary loan. Is that trite? Maybe it’s something some guy would say in a pick-up line.  Is it an excuse for what happened to you?

Sometimes I think believing your addiction was a disease excuses your choices, but the truth is that your addiction did not define you, at least not to me. It hurts me to think of the people that know how you died, but didn’t know you. They don’t understand that it really had nothing to do with you and can’t understand how amazing you were.

I miss you more than I ever thought possible. When I think about life getting easier, I don’t want it if it makes me remember you less.

I miss you, Baby Girl. I love you more than a thousand red M&M’s. Please be at peace, finally. Please be somewhere with music, dancing, and great joy.

Love,

Mommy