Little Girl

So there is this thing...

it's so strange and makes me feel sort of ashamed, but it is real and it is true.

I still cannot look of pictures of Cory as a child.  In honor of her birthday, someone found and sent me dozens and dozens of pictures of her in elementary school.  I couldn't even go through them, just saw the first couple of images and fled, my heart in flames, feeling panicked and horrified.   It hurts too much to see her pre-braces teeth and her narrow little chest.  It cuts me wide open to see her face so full of wonder, not knowing she wouldn't have a full life, a family of her own... children.

It's hard to explain, but it almost seems like that little girl of mine disappeared.  My fear is that people will forget she existed.  And while the photos are proof that she did, and the gesture of sending them means people haven't...they kill me all the same- just lay me out.  I still haven't made peace with the fact that I can't lay my eyes on the grown up face of that little girl.  I'll never be able to puzzle out those initial features that still exist in the adult lines and planes of my child's face.  A parent should be able to do that.  They should have access.

Someday, I will moon over her childhood photos, every single one I can gather, and I will be so incredibly grateful for the treasure that they are.   I'm sure of it.  Just not yet.  It still hurts too much.  And this thing, this nightmare, is a day by day operation.  Sometimes hour to hour.  Even moment to moment.

It's not time yet.