It's been ten weeks since Waverly died. A dear friend commented that she is reminded of the way a mother carefully counts a newborn's weeks and eventually moves into months. It feels strangely similar, yet horribly different. I despise moving into the double digits weeks since I last held her hand and smoothed her hair. Each moment I am moving farther away from her presence. I am unable to erase from my mind the horror of realizing she had taken her last breath. Each Wednesday morning at 7:30 I am transported back in time to the extreme agony I felt when I lost her.
I haven't been writing much, because I haven't been feeling much aside from missing Wavey. The permanence of her absence has yet to sick it and I keep thinking that I can change this. Something can be done to bring her back. I am unable to process anything more during this time.