I have been so overwhelmed by work and the holidays, I haven't had time to write. I have had lots of thoughts to put down, but I just haven't the heart to do it.
We had a thoroughly enjoyable Christmas. We had our largest Christmas dinner ever. We had 12 people over and ate too much and laughed heartily at the kids playing XBox Kinect. We didn't clean up the house for days afterwards, and I really enjoyed the week. I did.
There were so many times when I closed my eyes and could picture Isabelle there with us. I saw her high chair at the corner of the table during dinner. I saw her chubby little cheeks smeared with mashed potatoes and carrots. I saw her fuzzy little head with a big red bow stuck to it. I could see her crawling through the wrapping paper, sticking everything in her mouth, and driving her sisters crazy stealing their things and giggling madly as she crawled off with them. I could see it all clearly and like it was happening.
I know that all of the firsts will be hard. I know that. I have experienced it. At this point I don't believe that the thirds and fourths will be any better. On the fiftieth Christmas without Isabelle, there will still be a missing person at our celebration. On Mother's Day 2021 there will still be a phone call or card or flower that never comes. There will always be a missing piece of my heart. I look around at the rest of my family and wonder if it's the same for them. I wonder if they know how hard it is to smile and laugh while I'm having those manufactured memories play through my mind. I wonder if they have their own. I wonder if they're faking it too.
Then I think about all the people that remembered her this Christmas, and I am overwhelmed. Several people brought us angel and memory ornaments for her. Several others left them with her at her grave. It means so much to me that people keep her and us close to their hearts. It reminds me that she lives on forever in the hearts of all who love her. It reminds me that she'll always be with me, because I love her. My manufactured memories aren't nearly as wonderful as the ones we could have made.
We had a thoroughly enjoyable Christmas. We had our largest Christmas dinner ever. We had 12 people over and ate too much and laughed heartily at the kids playing XBox Kinect. We didn't clean up the house for days afterwards, and I really enjoyed the week. I did.
There were so many times when I closed my eyes and could picture Isabelle there with us. I saw her high chair at the corner of the table during dinner. I saw her chubby little cheeks smeared with mashed potatoes and carrots. I saw her fuzzy little head with a big red bow stuck to it. I could see her crawling through the wrapping paper, sticking everything in her mouth, and driving her sisters crazy stealing their things and giggling madly as she crawled off with them. I could see it all clearly and like it was happening.
I know that all of the firsts will be hard. I know that. I have experienced it. At this point I don't believe that the thirds and fourths will be any better. On the fiftieth Christmas without Isabelle, there will still be a missing person at our celebration. On Mother's Day 2021 there will still be a phone call or card or flower that never comes. There will always be a missing piece of my heart. I look around at the rest of my family and wonder if it's the same for them. I wonder if they know how hard it is to smile and laugh while I'm having those manufactured memories play through my mind. I wonder if they have their own. I wonder if they're faking it too.
Then I think about all the people that remembered her this Christmas, and I am overwhelmed. Several people brought us angel and memory ornaments for her. Several others left them with her at her grave. It means so much to me that people keep her and us close to their hearts. It reminds me that she lives on forever in the hearts of all who love her. It reminds me that she'll always be with me, because I love her. My manufactured memories aren't nearly as wonderful as the ones we could have made.
Her presence is in your house and with you. I feel it. To me it's a feeling of something missing, but also of something not missing. I don't know if it makes sense. It's like she's there, but she's not. I'm not sure if it makes sense at all, or maybe it does and I just can't explain it.
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