Jagged edges

At first I was scared, but now I’m addicted.
I’m addicted to looking at your photos.
I can’t seem to get them out of my mind.
The plumpness of your cheeks, the shape of your nose, the color of your lips.
I try to imagine you awake, alive, but I can’t. It’s so unfair.
I want to look into your eyes, I want to feel your heart beat; I want to do all the things I’ll never have a chance to do.
I’ve yet to go a night without crying over you, for you, for me.
My body wracks with sobs, my arms ache for you.
I’ve forgone smiling, laughter, happiness.
I’m afraid to face friends, afraid of my emotions, the complexity of my thoughts.
So I’ve pushed away everyone but daddy.
They just can’t understand how I feel, the many levels of my pain.
My innocence, my naïveté, taken away.
How do I compartmentalize my agony?
I can’t.
So life goes on around me, without me.
Everything has changed.
It’s not just enduring the loss of my daughter, but the loss of myself, the loss of my future, the change in the way people look at me, the way they respond to me, the way I respond to them.
I’ve been cast into the wrong movie, hearing words I don’t understand.
Will I ever be able to make small talk again, to listen to other’s problems, no matter how insignificant?
But I need people. I can’t, I shouldn’t, isolate myself.
I need strong people, someone strong enough to see me cry, to cry with me, to find the right words when there aren’t any, to know that they don’t know.
But for now I remain alone, because I don’t have the strength.
You’ve been stolen from me, a piece of me ripped away.
Jagged edges don’t heal smoothly. Once torn, forever weakened.
Nine months with you was endlessly generous, but life without you is equally cruel.
I know I’ll never be whole again.

-your mommy, Rachel Simon