Lilypie Angel and Memorial tickers

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Friday, December 17, 2010


The humming of the washing machine is the only noise.  Occasionally I break the silence with a crunchy bite of grilled cheese.  I glance at the other bar stool- the empty one- while I eat my lonely lunch.  No need to make a PB&J today.   I toy with the thought of making one and leaving it there for her anyway, but that might be considered to be on the other side of that thin line we use to define sanity.  I better not.  Besides, the blue, dinosaur sandwich cutter is collecting dust now.  I suppose I should throw it out.  How do you throw away the things your child loved... even the little things that made her face light up... like dinosaur shaped sandwiches?  The memories seem so connected to her things.  How do you choose what to keep?  Which did she love less- the mermaid dolls or the tiny, glass marbles she hid all over the house... the last rock she put in my purse or the tiny barbie shoe she left in my closet?  What should be put away and forgotten?  I had to put her away.  Will she be forgotten?

Our family feels so schizophrenic now.  We have two families and the 'twain shall never meet' (at least not here).  Two sets of family photos will hang on the wall separated by a frame and a dark, unbreachable chasm of nothingness.  One family ended on October 8th, 2010.  The next will begin in early 2011... divided by such pain and anguish in such a short space of time.  Did you know when your only child dies you can't keep "family" health insurance- even if your pregnant?  Nope.  It's just you and "spouse" now.  Not a 'real' family.

I suppose I'm not even a mommy anymore either.  Sure I am pregnant, but that means you are about to become a mother.  Mommy's brush teeth and hair and play silly games and give baths and timeouts and hugs and kisses.  Mommy's make PB&J's.  No need for that now.  My grilled cheese is gone and the washing machine is silent.  Time to try to think of something to do next since our, I mean my, lunch is over.

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