Tomorrow marks the second anniversary of your passing, my personal Groundhog Day. I have barely been able to concentrate on anything else for days, becoming somewhat obsessed (again) with your absence and with trying desperately to find some way to fill the void that exists in my heart without you.
I find myself drifting off, completely losing track of conversations, forgetting what I was doing, unable to keep track of the calendar… I’m floating in the past. Your birth, your first steps, your laughter, your amazing life. And I miss you so much that I ache.
Your brother asked for you today, and I had to remind him that you can’t come home… and try to explain why in words he could intellectualize. It was a challenge, but I think that it is always good for us to talk about you, to acknowledge your life in positive terms, and to try to remind ourselves that losing you didn’t ruin everything that you were.
I don’t want this life without you. I know it is selfish to say, and horrible to think. It sounds like I am not grateful and adoring of those I have left to love, but that’s not quite so. Your daddy, brother and sister anchor me in this world. They keep me centered and focused and working toward the future, but it is never any less painful without you in it.
I want you to come home to me. I will never stop wishing for it, and feeling slighted that you cannot. I hurt without you, we all do. As much as we celebrate each other, and everything we had with you, I cannot change how wrong it feels that you are not here with us.
I would give anything for just another moment to hold you, to give you my love, to let you feel my adoration. Because I can’t, I try desperately to do justice to my love for your brother and sister so that they will have my strength when their road is rocky, so that they can hold it with them when they have to make hard choices. This is the best that I can do.
I miss you, Baby Girl. I love you so much. And I hope that you are somewhere joyful, full of beauty and singing.
Always,
Mommy
