The hardest part is remembering what she looked like, that week when she was barely alive. The hardest part is remembering what she used to look like before that. The hardest part is when I can't remember something from before that, when I say something was A's favorite and someone else says no, that wasn't A, that was you, and we'll never be able to ask her and it's just gone. The hardest part is when something was gone years ago but resurfaces in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of playing with my kids, and I'm in tears with no control over them. The hardest part is walking around feeling raw in a way no one can see, like I have no skin. The hardest part is the edge of sadness that underlies everything. Everything.
I have a husband I love and adorable kids and I want to be happy, for them. I can't picture when I ever will.