24 days later

Damn.  Time flies.

Since the last post, I've spent 8 days and 7 days with my Girl Scouts camping.  5 days and 4 nights were primitive camping.  That means pooping in the open in a pit latrine in the woods and being thankful that there was a pit latrine, walls or no walls.

In the Boundary Waters I found Katie, or maybe she found me, really every second of every day.  The last night when I was weeping because I didn't want this time with her to end, I could practically feel her leaning against my shoulder.  I now choose to believe that there are signs everywhere, its just up to us to pick them up.  I never felt like this before, it's only since Katie's death that I've looked.  All the other parents at Compassionate Friends tell stories of signs every meeting.  My counselor says that it's very real and not in my head.

I just still can't wrap my head around the fact that she's not here.

One year ago she was in her second week of school in Oklahoma.  One year ago we had already bought tickets for her first trip home.  Yes, this was home.

She had told me that if she didn't live with Daddy then that she'd never live with Daddy.  She wanted it to be fair, she said.  (That was my sweet "justice" girl, trying to find a balance of fairness.)

That was quite prophetic, don't you think?  One month later.  ONE MONTH LATER.

Now I'm counting down the 16 days until the first anniversary of her death.

DAMN YOU WHO TOOK HER FROM ME!

It wasn't God.  I've not made up yet.  I'm still angry.  But it wasn't God.

It was man.  The same as if someone took a gun and shot her.  It it was a person with a gun, I could direct my anger and grief at a specific person.  Here it's just some corporation (and I don't care what the SCOTUS says, corporations aren't people).  I'm some grieving mother whose name is unknown to the corporation who killed her. If it weren't for the lawsuit and the lawyers, the killer would not even know that my baby was killed by their actions.

I need someone to stand up and tell me that he or she did this to us.  I need someone to know how I hurt.

Attempting self-care

Today was a big day. I feel like I accomplished a lot personally. It's hard to manage "radical" self-care as Anne Lamott would put it. Especially when you're back to "left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe."  I'm trying, though. 

Establishing care with a new health care twice in 8 months or so is rough under any circumstances, but when insurance changes, so do we. This means that I've sat with a new provider twice and wept while they weep with me. But I did it and finally got it done even with the fact that I've had this insurance for a while now. We are trying some different things that will hopefully help as the anniversary grows closer. 

And counselling was today. That always makes me sob. I just have to believe that this pain now will help me in the long run. It's damn painful every visit. 

I am blessed with providers who care deeply, though. I told the nurse practitioner today that I feel rather like a person in a foreign land who doesn't understand the currency or the language. I just hold out my hands and hope that someone will understand my needs, take what they should, and give me what's the best for me in return. 

What a far cry from the woman in charge of her own health and destiny. She should probably, eventually reappear. I just know she's not here now. 

Not in my job description

I had a shitty and unproductive week last week. It is so hard sometimes just to stand upright, let alone actually accomplishing something. I hate it!  I used to be much more productive than this. Now, just getting out of bed is sometimes the greatest achievement of my day. 

There were so many things that got me down. Compassionate Friends. Appointment as co-representative of Katie's estate. Hangover from vacation. Coming to grips with the reality of a Girl Scout trip without her (yeah, I'm not there yet).  Sad and stressed Libby as she has to continue her life without Katie. 

Sometimes it's nice to just go back to the blissful unreality. It's getting harder to find. Every thing I clean now has something that reminds me of her. Every time I go to bed there is some sad, sad thought. I'm crying a lot more again. 

Eleven months. 

Then a year. Holy Mary Mother of God, I'm not prepared for this. I'm not supposed to be *that* mother. This is so very much not what I signed on to do.