August 18, 2012
I slept in R's room
last night, not from missing her but because F’s snoring makes it impossible
for me to get any solid sleep; still, I sat on her bed, picking up and putting
down her things: her jewelry and lotions and knick-knacks, looking at her
photos, her unmatched socks and bikinis.
I couldn’t sleep.
This morning I have a lump in my throat.
We will settle into
this new way of being as the ground beneath us buckles. E. doesn’t let on
how much he misses her, already. He comes into my office late at night as I
write, in boxers and flexed muscles, to talk about traveling with Habitat for Humanity.
It’s a noble idea but I'm certain he's busying himself to avoid
missing his sister, his confidant and partner in crime, one of the lucky
few who has ever been allowed to peek behind his bravado.
F. is cranky.
His eyes welled up more than once yesterday. I stayed dry-eyed purposely,
trying to keep everyone together, to focus on R. But today I am feeling this
giant gaping hole in my life.
Suddenly,
I have too much time. I will not be ferrying girls to the mall. I
will not be worrying about lending out my car. I will not be stewing over an
unemptied dishwasher while my girl sleeps the day away. I will not be
throwing open every window in the house, hoping for nail polish fumes to find
their way out.
She is less than an
hour away but she is gone and I am undone by the ache in my heart.
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