Grief Remembered

Two years ago this morning I was playing with my daughter in the front yard for the last time.

We raced flowers in the water in the gutter, I picked her up to reach the tree leaves, and we pretended she was eight feet tall and could reach them all on her own. We raced back to the driveway when it was time for her to go. I picked her up, held her in my arms, and told her what a strong, brave girl she is, and how much I love her and always will lover her. Her mom tried to speed things along as I started crying. I strapped my daughter into the car seat one last time. I hugger her and kissed her. I closed the door. As I did she screamed Daddy! She screamed it again as they drove away.

That was the last time I saw my daughter.

My daughter is gone. I will never see her again. I can’t fathom how two years have already passed since that terrible morning. I don’t know what she looks like. I don’t know what she sounds like. I don’t know what her favorite toys are or what shows she loves to watch. Does she still love Doc McStuffins, or is she a “big girl” now?

I miss her so much. But it is getting easier. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but I know there’s nothing to feel guilty about. It’s just life. And life continues to press forward, whether I want it to or not.