Tomorrow will be on month, 4 weeks, since you left us for a better place. I don't think I'm breathing and I didn't know you could cry without shedding a tear.
I remember asking your Dad which was worse - watching you die or having you gone and never being able to hold your hand again or spend time with you, even if it was in that gawd-aweful place, surrounded by death and forced acceptance.
It was never your time and it was not for the best. I miss you. You being gone will never be okay.
I don't want you looking over my shoulder or watching out for us from heaven. I want you here when I can see you, hold you, laugh and smile with you... Even nag you to clean up your mess or call your Dad...
My chest hurts. I think it's where my heart used to be.
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