I remember after I lost Adama, I didn't believe my heart would ever be able to love another child like I loved her. After her death, she had so much power over me. She invaded my sleep, her memory would consume my days. She owned me. Every part of me.
The aching to hold her and to remember her caused me to sit for hours in one place...day in and day out.
Most people watched me and called my inability to face the day "depression"... But for me I was just trying to remember...otherwise yes... depression would take me and break me... piece by piece.
I was desperately trying to hold on to the visual memory of her... the timid smile, the way she would hold her water bottle, the way she would eat cheerios-her slobber all over her fingers.. cheerios stuck to her like glue. I wanted to feel her weight in my arms... I wanted to kneel down and put her shoes on her feet just one more time...
As time went on... I would try to visualize what she might look like had she turned 6.... would she have played piano or practiced ballet, if she'd survived? What would our family look like if she were in the photographs today? What did we really lose when we lost her? Surely without her presence the world doesn't spin quite the same. How could it? After all, my world has never been the same since she left...