Miss her

I can tell people that my auntie died, and I can do it without crying. But it's when I say it outloud to myself that it hurts the worse. I try not to talk about it or write about it but tonight I picked up the telephone to call her and tell her that Notting Hill was on the W network. She loved that movie. It's these little unexpected reminders that make me choke up. The smallest signs of absence cut randomly, deeply.

Yesterday morning, I was talking with Sarah and I felt my eyes well up with tears. I am trying so hard, I told her, to keep everything together. For the most part, I do. I am trying to be strong and I am trying to have the whole "this too shall pass" attitude. But sometimes I can no longer muffle the voice inside me that wants to say — no, shout — that it doesn't seem fair to have so much loss, sadness and stress stuffed into such a short period of time. For the most part, I've been focusing on the positive days to come, but not tonight! Tonight I am allowing myself to have a full-blown pity party complete with "feeling sorry for self" activities. Back to stiff upper lip and rebuilding tomorrow, because I am not proud of wanting to have a pity party.

Chris has been great for someone who still only knows me so little. He's a strong shoulder.
As slight as he is. He's stronger than he looks.