Baby Girl,
I'm sorry I haven't written in awhile. I miss you so much, it bowls me over sometimes. In the past few months I've tried so hard to ignore how much it still hurts that you are gone.
Every so often someone asks if I'm doing better, and I just looked at them and think, "you don't really want me to answer that".
It's harder when people actually want to know. When I give some non-committal answer and they look at me like they'd like to shake me until I actually say something meaningful.
Listen, I'm not ok. I know that. I know it's awkward and scary and weird for people who actually recognize that.
I'm not in denial. But, here's the thing. I have a giant hole in my life, and nothing can fill it. I had a perfect circle of joy. My son. My daughters. My wonderful, crazy, and inappropriate family. It is broken. You broke it, in one stupid instant.
And every time someone wants to really know how that feels, I have to think about it. And that's harder than talking to people who don't really want to know. Or burying myself in my daily rituals. Daddy says I'm not processing, or even really coping. But, I feel like that's ok. I mean, it's just what is going on right now.
Sixteen months. Sixteen months without hearing your beautiful voice, seeing your radiant smile, having a fight, or listening to your bubbly laugh. It's an eternity and it has passed in slow motion, and in the blink of an eye.
You cannot love more than you love your babies. And so I have to believe that there is no wound greater than this loss. So, sometimes turning on the radio, or brushing my hair, or even just being nice... is too much. Sometimes it is all I can do to lose myself in anything that will distract me from your absence.
There are other days, where your brother and sister fill me with their life, and I can accept your death and drown myself in their joy. This is ok. I accept it, I welcome it. This grief paired with their joy reminds me that I am alive and here to carry on.
I am so grateful for your brother and sister. They fill my vision with the future, so even though I choke on the fact that you are not in it, I can look forward to it. And even, maybe someday, to the easing of the pain.
Sixteen months is not so long. I mothered you for over eighteen years, during which I probably never spent eighteen straight days away from you.
I used to tell your daddy, after we'd been together for months, that we'd known each other for minutes in the grand scheme of things. So he reminded me tonight that in the grand scheme of things, you've only been gone for minutes. Really, not enough time to get used to your absence.
Not enough time to stop being jealous when I hear other moms talking about their kids college plans. Not enough time to stop being angry that we were the ones who lost their daughter. Not enough time to stop wishing I could hold you, and tuck you in at night. Not enough time to stop agonizing over what is happening to your body, and where your soul is right now. Not enough time to be ok.
Lucky for me, I am surrounded by people who are more than happy to talk some sense into me. And who really care that even if I am not ok today, I'll still make it through to tomorrow morning. Sometimes I want to hide from them, but mostly I am smart enough to understand and grateful enough to listen.
I will miss you every moment for the rest of my life, and I will never be ok with this outcome. And it will take a long, long time before I can stop treading water and really be whatever version of ok I will be.
I love you so much, Peach. You were the best part of me, and you made me the best version of myself I could have ever wished to be.
As always, I hope that you are happy and somewhere magical and musical. And that you are singing at the top of your lungs. Someday I will sing with you again.
Love,
Mommy
