One Month of Mondays. One Month of tears. One Month has passed since I went into my daughter’s room to tell her Goodnight, but never Goodbye.
I wear her shirts to be closer to her. I daydream about her. I imagine her in all her forms. The tiny, 5.5 lb bald infant, as a gap-toothed toddler, a silly and gangly 8-year old, teenager all dressed up for a school dance, at night dressed down for bed with her glasses and mouthguard. I still expect to see her come running down the stairs in the morning. I still want to reach for my phone to text her. I forget to make a turn when I’m driving, because I’m thinking about that street sign that says “Longview” and how she always used to burst out singing Green Day when we would drive past.
I want to say something positive and uplifting today, but I just can’t. Everyone says I’m strong, but that’s just the brave face I put on. I feel as though I’m crumbling inside. I took my scooter to Zumba at the gym with a friend today and it took every ounce of willpower, even though after I went, I was glad I did. I keep moving, and try to stay distracted. But as I’m going through the motions, I’m always thinking about her.
I don’t have anything profound or uplifting to say today. I just miss her. There will be better days ahead (and I promise there will be better blog posts too – today just isn’t that day)