Year 12.

It seems like such a very long time to be missing someone.


At age 12 in my church, girls graduate from the primary sunday school into the "Young Women" program.  At the beginning of each year, they hold a "New Beginnings" program.  It is sort of a preview of the year for the girls, and a welcome for all those who will be turning 12 that year.  Cora would be turning 12 this year.  New Beginnings is this week.

She should be there.

I should be there with her.

We should be excitedly preparing for this new step in her life.  I should be watching as she grows up too fast into the woman I'd imagined her becoming all through my pregnancy with her.


I should
I should
I should.


Should is the hardest part.


Actually, no it's not.  The hardest part is the havoc 12 years has wreaked on my memories of her.  I don't remember what she smelled like.  I don't remember what she felt like.  Except for the few pictures we took, I don't even really remember what she looked like.

My body betrayed me by allowing her to die, and now my mind is betraying me by allowing her to be erased.  My mortal, imperfect brain.  It seems so unfair. Sometimes it feels no more real than a bad dream.

But she really was here.  She really did exist.  She really is mine.

And I miss her.