Day 240

When Constance was alive, we spent a lot of time together. I took her to and from her activities and, if they were recreational, I would stay and encourage her. She went with me to social activities, medical appointments, errands, volunteering, and even to some work events. She was incredibly well behaved, so she could do things with me that I don’t think other children would be welcomed doing. Now that she’s gone, I can’t get past the intense emotions of missing her, anger on her behalf at her not getting to grow up or have an adulthood, and a sense of loneliness at the simple fact I don’t have her company. I don’t know how to or if I will ever get past that. I don’t know if I should.

I took care of Constance from birth. I was always there. When she was a toddler, babysitters would come over to take care of her while I worked. There is this comfort in hearing your child play. It is hard to explain to those who have never had a child. Imagine you’re hearing the person you love most in the world’s heart beating. That’s what it is like. And when that is gone, it is gone forever. It leaves you with an unbearable silence and an ache in your own heart. That absence is all you can feel and so it is easy to focus on it.

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