Grinding. Heavy. Sharp.
Never the words I wold have imagined myself using to describe Christmas time.
Short. Sensitive. Hurting.
Never the words I would have imagined my husband using to describe us this time of year.
Everyday is just hard. No other way to describe it. The ache for her is palpable. The memories of our last year with her. Such a short time we knew she had cancer.. This time of year brings it all back. The family pictures we took.. . Her face swollen with steroids. . A trip to Disneyland. . Presents that barely got played with..
And now. A vast empty.
How can it hurt this much? How are we supposed to survive this? I don’t want to do it all over again. But I am. We are. Day after day.
Its not fair. Why my daughter? I hate this part of it. The searing and bitter jealousy. I look at pictures on my parents wall. Of my nieces and nephews that got to grow up.
Why not Jennifer? Why why why why?
I hate this dirty truth. I look at pictures every once in awhile and imagine it wasn’t me. What if it was one of those kids that was frozen in time. I look on that wall at cousins and I wonder what if it hadn’t been mine..
I imagine me getting to post pictures of my daughter still. . She would be 8. Probably in some Nutcracker performance. ..
Why do I think these thoughts? How did I become this person that thinks these humiliatingly self-centered thoughts?
And the imagining doesn’t doesn’t help. My disgusting truth just makes me feel worse. Because I think thoughts I never imagined I would. And because it doesn’t change a damned thing.
She isn’t 8 she is 6. Forever 6. She was 6 for 106 days. I counted it out.
Why? Why did I do that?
No rational reason for it. But I had to know. It was like a itch I had to scratch.. but doing it gave me no relief.
And it doesn’t change a damn thing.
I feel so small. In such a deep hole. Hearing only the sounds of my agony. I want to call for her.. To scream her name out over and over again.
I want it not to be her. Not my daughter. A dark wish I admitted very early on in this blog. Its truer today than it was then.
Thankful too…that you aren’t me…that its not your child. And thats ok to admit.
Because if Im being honest…
Really really terribly honest…
I wish it was.
Pretty incredible how those words I wrote just over 2 years ago still emerge and break through. The way I talk to God.. So much the same now.. Just now with a deeper desperation. I longing for Him to carry me through this.. drag me if He has to..
To not let the things I think.. the nasty and the jealous and the bitter.. To not let those things overtake me.. to not let them become me. ..
To let me just sit and cry. Because I miss my daughter. A simple truth.
i miss you
..until there is a cure..