Hell

It's two weeks from the date on the calendar that I hate the most.  The dread just thickens, a fog I move through reluctantly- how much I'd like to just sleep until September or forever, whichever decided to show up first.

I just drove Jake to a sleepover, and felt sick to my stomach just to be on the same stretch of road, even if I took care with my route.  This time of year, it could've happened yesterday.  She dies so many times in my mind.

I push away from the images all throughout the day and night; they wait patiently and come creeping back.  It's a tired game.  Sometimes I think my mind will simply break under the weight of seeing her there over and over again, lying so small and so still.

The sounds come next...the sirens, the blatting of the fire engine, my own desperate screams, the voice of a stranger on the phone with my mother, "Come right away.  No, this isn't a prank.  Just come.  Hurry."

And the way the sheet fell through the still, hot air, covering her from my sight, taking her away for all of time.
This is hell.