Or rather, an hour.
Or perhaps a day.
I'm having a day.
An awful day that was full of good and mediocre things.
Good things happened today.
My work day went really quickly and was pretty fun, I had lunch with a co-worker that I enjoy, I'm having an okay hair day, and I'm going on a date later with a nice guy.
But all day I've been holding Monica inside me, trying not to let anyone see what was happening.
In Northern Ireland a little boy was awarded an award in honor of Monica's memory.
And even as I write this, I can't breathe.
I choke and shake and I hate every second of this. Every minute that I know that her body is in the ground...
Unreal. Unjust. Wrong.
Most of the time, pretty much all of the time lately I don't think of her as anything other than a memory, some kind of thing or entity that I once had.
I don't think of her as a person or as a friend that I lost.
Lost.
I can't believe we lost her.
And there are times when I can't pretend that she was just a memory and that her death wasn't real.
And it kills me.
And I miss her and it doesn't get easier and I'm so...
I don't even know what I am.
I feel like a shell when I think of her. Nothing can fill me up because she's gone and I can just pretend she's not real.
And I hate that. I hate that I do that. I know this sounds awful and I know she deserves to be remembered for the full life she had and the incredible, whole person that she was.
But when I think about the airport or her souvenirs or the couch we shared every afternoon while we did devos...
I can't go to work or talk to people or get dressed when Monica's death is real.
I have to put her away to survive.
And all the while I'm freaking out because I know that I'm losing her this way.
I'm not remembering her as she was because I'm making her into a symbol of sadness, but I physically cannot stand to think of her and remember her as my friend.
I can't believe we lost her.
Where is the solution in this? Where is the peace?
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