One month has passed since I last held her, since I last kissed her, since I last caressed her little cheek or let my fingers absentmindedly trace the contour of her ankle giving way to foot and then to toe and back again as she lay nestled against my chest. I miss her milky, slightly sour smell and the feel of her silken curls on my face as I bury my nose into the base of her neck. I miss staring for hours at the endless whisps of her eyelashes. They seemed to go on forever. I ache, not just from grief within my heart.
I physically hurt.
After a month, I'd have thought the pain to have changed slightly, nearly imperceptibly, but slightly. I do not expect that it will ever lessen rather I will come accustom to its presence. It hasn't changed though. I've tasted life without her. It's bitterness causing my nose to wrinkle and bile to fill my mouth.
I don't like it. I am a creature of habit. I crave familiarity. There is nothing yet familiar about whole hours in the afternoon when Channing is napping and the house is silent. There is intent and purpose, almost an urgency, to the activities that take up this time. I think and over-think my way through blog posts. I don't even care if an hour passes and I do nothing more than stare at her picture on the computer monitor, the video lesson from the photo editing class I'm taking online having long-since ended.
In my head, logic supercedes love and I know the path that Sophie has taken is the one that was chosen for her. My heart, my broken, never-to-be-fixed, mama's heart is neither ready nor willing to accept that this is what is meant to be.
I love you and I miss you my pretty, bitty girl.