The other day I realized one more thing that goes with the loss of someone: memories I remember parts of, and I know the rest of the stories are with her, and I can't ask her what they are; it's lost.
Sometimes, I get on her computer and I go through her pictures. She was so creative. I like seeing the pictures she took and edited, but also the pictures of herself. When I look at her bright smile, my heart just gets squeezed so hard. I wish there was more pictures. There are plenty, but I always wish for more. Not that I don't remember what she looks like. The memory of her is still very vivid, but it's just nice to see her in a picture I haven't seen before.
I beat myself up a bit too. I was mean to her. I didn't want to be, but I was. She would probably deny it, which makes me miss her even more. I put so much pressure on her.
I miss her unconditional love. The love she had for me, I don't think I even love my children that much, and how I love them... She was just so whole.
I miss the things that drove me crazy about her. She was unashamed. Shy and somewhat anti-social, yet sometimes really bold, and she'd embarrass me. Especially when she'd load up on free stuff, at fairs or such events, where vendors give away promotional stuff. She wouldn't just take one pen, she'd take a handful.
When there were free T-shirts, she'd take the biggest size -better value I guess? This makes me smile now, but it took me a while to realize I should get the T-shirt that is actually my size.
She was dramatic, but it came from her heart, it was not acting on her part. Her emotions just spilled over. She was not manipulative and she did not want people to feel sorry for her. She was proud, but she wanted people to know the real her and she'd get really upset if they thought something that was not true about her. She was a straight shooter.
She had a huge heart. I wish she was here to console me of her death. The irony...
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| November 2007 |
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| December 2010 |
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