Waiting for a girl like you

People ask me why I write. Why I share. Why I place my emotions out there for all to see. The only answer I have is because it is what I am meant to do. I don't know any other reason than to say that I am compelled by God to do so. But why would God want me to write and share? Why would God want my wife and daughter with Him and me here alone? I don't know the answer to either. But I can venture a guess at the first one. 

When we lost our only child we thought we were going crazy. We had this whole jumble of emotions and we just knew those emotions were exclusive to us. When we began to read books dealing with loss we began to understand that the thoughts, emotions, and ideas were not ours alone. Many others who had travelled similar paths had experienced similar emotions. So my guess is that God wants me to share so that others who embark on this journey can also feel like they are not alone. And this is why I share what I feel will provide guidance and instruction. 

But then there are days I just share raw emotion. And maybe sometimes those blog posts are meant just for me. Perhaps they are just there as mile markers on this campaign so that I can look back and see how far I've come. Today may just be one of those days. 

I don't know whether I am trying to fool myself but I feel like this is all one big test. If I pass this test then Wanda will walk back in the door and jump in my arms. It feels so real and I long for the test to be over and for me to get that reward. I keep the house relatively clean. I take my medicine and vitamins like a good boy. I tithe and give of my resources and time. I do all the things that I did before plus the things that Wanda did so that when she does walk in the door she will have nothing to do other than wrap her arms around me and hold me. 

Then it hits, runs over me, and leaves me as roadkill. She isn't coming back. She's never coming back. She can't come back. This isn't a dream. This isn't temporary. This is permanent. The happiness I had with her is now history. It is only to be relieved in my memories. The thirty-two pillows that she placed on our bed (I exaggerate - but only slightly) get piled onto her side as I sleep so I can pretend there is someone there. I call the house phone just so I can hear her voice on the answering machine. I look through her notes from work that I could never understand but allow me to imagine her in the strokes of her pen. I pretend that the lipstick post-it note kiss is fresh and not stained by tears. I pretend the only way I know how but at the end of the day I am left to hear only the grinding of the gears of my thoughts as they try to keep fresh memories that fade every day just a little more. 

Yes, this post may just be for me. And perhaps sharing raw emotion isn't the best idea. But then again, perhaps people need to realize that I am human. And at moments like these I feel more human than ever.