And the tears. You know how tears sit in your throat and stay there for a while? Like they are waiting to crawl into your eyes at any minute? That is how I feel. Every minute I'm breathing deep, to prevent them from coming. Over everything—Erin's behavior, Evan fussing, Megan needing a binky...everything. Just typing this is making them come again. I have little tolerance.
People are reaching out—comments like, “I know this week is hard for you” and “we are thinking of you” are starting to show up. A few cards, emails. People who really care. Care, yes, but unable to stop this flood of grief. Plug up this hole in my family and the hole in my heart. Oh, I miss her so. The little person she would be right now. Can you see her? When you close your eyes, can you see her dimples? Her tiny earlobes? The way her chin sticks out when she is being
Now I know there are people reading this and judging me—the ones who think I should be over it, that it isn't healthy to feel this way and that I really, truly need help moving on. I accept that. And to them I will say that I'm sorry you can't see her the way I can. Despite (or because of?) the sadness that she wraps us in this time of year, she is beautiful. As the salty tears run down my cheeks and her shining tree lights up my window, I know I wouldn't trade her for anything. Feel free to “move on” without me. I'm going to sit here with my baby girl for a while.