When Time Moves Forward

I don’t even know what to write anymore on this day. Eleven of these days have now come to pass and my emotions towards them are always fueled with conflicting peaks and valleys. I drown in them. They consume my very essence.

I remember it like it was yesterday. All the chaos. The feeling of helplessness. The tears spilled on the floor. I remember the way my brain completely shut down as it came to terms with the truth. She was gone. She would breath no more. And I feel as though I’ve been holding mine ever since in solidarity.

Life moves forward, not on. It doesn’t stop for you to catch your breath. It doesn’t cease to bring pain and suffering just because you’ve already suffered everything. It continues forward. It doesn’t even ask your permission or preference.

I am grateful for the children that are sitting near me now. I’m releshing in the moment of Ruth currently cuddling up to me and holding my arm, pretending to read these very words. I don’t take these moments for granted however it still magnifies the truth. There should be one more voice I’m hearing. There should be one more body begging to cuddle up to mine. And this ache is a weight I feel I will never be free of.

I take all this day by day. I thank all of you who read this and encourage me. I break down when I read “are you doing ok?” I know that you know I’m not. But you know that you are asking if it has overwhelmed me yet. It has not. I’m still writing. I’m still sharing her story. Because she is still a part of me. So, one more year passes without my permission. So I will move forward with the time, but I refuse to move on.