Normally when I feel this way, I post to my private blog.  It's just not the sort of thing I post publically because it feels…  cheap.  I guess I am throwing it out there because, well, keeping it to myself hasn't done me any good, so I assume putting it out there can't hurt much, either.

I miss her.  I miss her so much it hurts.  I catch myself saying something she would say and I damn near burst into tears.  But, as always, I don't.  I just dummy up.  Or shut down.  It's funny.  I know DH has asked me things about her or that would turn the conversation towards her…  And I know I swore my babies would know her through me, but I have failed because I can't bring myself to talk about her.  We turn those pages too quickly in the photo albums.  Whenever we start to get too near the subject in conversation, the last thing I recall saying is, "I don't want to talk about this any more," and then it's like someone else steps in and covers for me for a minute while I collect myself somewhere else.  When I rejoin the situation, there are several minutes missing and it's like I was in a fog…  Like I just dropped in out of nowhere.  I don't think that's normal, but I must admit that I am not exactly in a hurry to do anything about it, either.  I'm not lying when I say I don't want to talk about it…  I don't.  I can't have a conversation about her without facing the fact that she isn't here…  And won't ever be here.  The past tense is a bitch.  If there were some way around it…  I might be able to talk about her…  But that past tense is a wicked, wicked thing…

I wish to The Force she were here.  I can't think of anything short of my children that I wouldn't give up to have her here…  I look at Dizzy Girl and I just ache.  Physically.  I ache.  I think about how much she looks like me and what she would think of her hair and her smile.  I think about how she would adore her toothless grin and her chubby little cheeks and her pink outfits and her bows and frills…  I think about how she won't be there for tea parties and doll houses or dance recitals….  And I think about what she will never see with the boys and how much she loved on Mega Man when we were out in California…  I just ache when I think of all the things the children are missing because of that void…

It's like a black hole for me, really.  It has gravity.  It pulls me in all the time, but pulls in pieces of other stuff, too.  We had Mega's 5th birthday party this weekend and before I could stop myself, I pulled out my phone and started to dial so she could sing to him.  Christ on crutches, I tried to call her.  I can't remember my own damn phone number half the time, but without thinking, I started to dial a number I've not called in almost 4 fucking years.  How do I do that?  How do I just block it out like that and access it without even thinking?  How for fuck's sake do I do that?  I don't even think I want to know…  And I don't care to change that, either.  I just sort of trembled and closed my phone.  I lost a few more minutes, but BFD…  I was back in my party room with 18 energetic children and no one noticed…

So I skip some beats…  So what?  I could be losing my mind, right?  I mean, I could just forget.  In this case, I don't really see an issue with my method of holding white-knuckle tight to every little thing I can get my fragile little mind to recall.  Where is the harm in that?  Sure, I can sometimes see an overlap and again, I lose afew minutes before I can get the memory out of real life…  It's like watching a movie, but instead of just the current scene, I can see a scene previous, too.  Where you should see children running in a park being watched by me, their mother, I see me running in Schiller Park being watched by her…  BFD.  No harm, no foul.  In some instance, I can't control it.  It starts and stops of its own accord and I drink it all in…  Because after that, I don't know if I can recall it again or if I will even remember what I saw when it is over.  It's like a flashback, but better.  Sometimes I can even smell things…  Like pudding.  Does anyone else remember cooking pudding on the stove?  To this day, I still prefer hot pudding to cold or room temp…  Pudding cups suck.  Gimme the real deal.

So I miss her.  And today it was so bad that I kept seeing her everywhere.  Everywhere.  It hurt.  A lot.  I hate that.  I hate that hurt and I hate that ache.  I fucking hate it.  I hate that I feel it at all.  I hate that she's not here.  I fucking hate it.  Why can't I have her back?  Better yet: why did she have to go at all?  Seriously, of all people, The Force couldn't have picked someone, anyone different?  WTF…

FUCK.

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