I Hate Everything. Again.

I have redirected myself from browsing the internet and to this page.  I am highly emotional and should not be wielding a debit card right now.  It takes two hands to type, so here we are for the moment.


Mother's Day was another hard day to get through.  It wasn't the searing pain of last year, but more a gloomy descent onto the household.  Jake made me a card at school.  Tim, after being begged, got me a hot chocolate from McDonald's.  The rest of the day I hid out in my bed and tried to remember Cory's voice, her smile, her walk.


I talked to Tim a little before he went to work, mostly about how I know I shouldn't feel that the accident was my fault, but a lot of the time I still do.  He sympathizes, but said he can't see why I would feel that way.  I asked him how he would feel if he'd been home with her that day, and told her, sure, she could walk over and pick up something he needed to finish making dinner.  The lights went on in his eyes.  He nodded; he hid his face.  He nodded; stared out the window.  He said nothing.  Nothing needed to be said.  Just for a minute, he'd put himself in my shoes.  How do you get rid of a feeling of responsibility that's been bred right into your bones over another human being?


Today, I got the notification that Cory's monument is ready to be shipped.  I promised myself I wouldn't scroll down to see the finished pictures, but then I did it anyway.  Something inside me that held out the tiniest, most flimsy shred of hope that this was all a nightmare laid down compliantly and died.  Her name was carved in stone, six feet tall.  It's really over.  I feel like I can't breathe.