Yesterday, it was Cory in her casket that kept coming up in my mind: her face, her lips pooched out just a little...her arms and hands, so obviously arranged...the way she felt too solid when I touched her waist...
breaking, my heart keeps breaking. She dies every day in my mind.
Last night, it was all dirt and gore by the side of the road, and the people in uniform who walked around, just walked. It's so hard to swallow that nothing at all could be done to help my girl. My heart will never accept the academic reasons that stayed their hands.
The white sheet floating down over her body- that image alone makes me wish to be done with all of this.
Cory, Cory, Cory. I can't believe this happened! I can't believe I let you get hurt. Mommy is so so soooo sorry!
Get hurt? No. I let her DIE. ALONE. Oh my God, the guilt is eating me up inside.
These last few days without the structure of work?
No urge for anything. I've mostly quit eating. I sleep too much. Pills help. I've been trying to hide in my awake time in Netflix marathons, but they always end the same way- my eyes leaving whatever show I'm currently hiding in to look owlishly around my room at the twenty six or so framed photos of my girl.
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