It's hard to be three when you used to be four.
It's hard not to feel punished every time I reach for the phone to text or call her and realize - I can't.
It's hard to look at that boy and realize he has to do the rest of this life without his greatest confidant, his biggest fan, his infamous tormentor, and his guide. I can't believe his wife won't know this girl and won't be introduced to or vetted by her sharp tongue, It's hard.
The Little River runs behinds the kids in this picture. You can see how high the river runs some springs when winter has sent a bountiful snowfall to Chaffee County, Colorado. The river deposits rocks as it tumbles downstream carving out channels and leaving beauty marks in its wake.
I am wandering around in a cavern where grief and love collide. The tumultuous force of each have marred the landscape of my heart. The rush of grief has created vengeful whirlpools whose suction threatens while the natural currents of love offer a steadier, surer course. Someday, I hope that no one will know which channel was carved by love and which by grief. Though both be deep, someday I hope the two currents will simply co-exist creating interesting rocks, rugged landscapes and a complimentary beauty within the cavern. Someday, I hope "love wins".
It's hard without you because it was perfect with you. We miss you baby girl, but we are so very grateful we had you to miss.