My hands are
trembling terribly. I’m a nervous wreck and I can’t seem to calm down. I’m
rushing this morning, trying to get ready, already 15 minutes late for work. I
yank my pants out of the dryer and I hear a noise come from my laptop. Another
person has liked the message I left on her wall. I smile only slightly, my
stomach a sick mess of nerves. I had stayed up all night thinking about her,
writing to her, and planning for today. A year. It would have been a year ago today.
Traffic is horrible. I jump when I hear a blaring horn somewhere to my right. I look to see an angry man drive aggressively around the car that had pulled out in front of him. My heart sinking I instinctively look to the back seat. I don’t want her to be afraid. She isn’t there though. The only thing in the back of my car is an empty booster seat unused for over a year and her favorite stuffed bear. What would she look? She would have a tooth missing by now. Her freckles splashed across her face, so much like my own. Her hair would be longer, perhaps even as long as mine. I hear another horn and suddenly the angry driver disappears and I am on that dark road again. My car caught in the headlights of that speeding truck on the wrong side of the road. I swerve to miss but it’s too late. I hear the shatter of glass and a scream from behind me and then nothing. Suddenly I am back in the present, and the driver behind is honking their horn. The light is green. I think of my daughter again and my heart aches a bit at the idea of not being able to see her today. I reach for my cell phone. I have to tell her.
“I miss you so much. Can’t wait until I can see you again,” I write on her wall.
Everyone is staring at me as I enter work. Their eyes dart to my face and away. They are afraid to approach me, afraid to say something that may remind me that today I will not be able to see my daughter. I see their looks of pity and hurry as fast I can to my office. I wish they would act normal. I wish they wouldn’t act as if I were about to break. My boss is waiting for me beside of my office. I prepare myself because I’m over an hour late. As I get closer though all I can see is his small sad smile. He too is going to treat me differently today.
“You could have just stayed home today we’re not really that busy you know.” He says as he steps away from the door frame.
I try to smile at him but it comes out as more of a grimace and silently I enter my office and shut the door. I don’t feel like being polite today when no one is able to act normal.
I find that the work day only seems to drag on slowly. But I didn’t want to be at home today if she couldn’t be there with me. My mind is everywhere else but on the pile of work in front me. I thought being at work would help me keep my mind off of her but it doesn’t. I count off the things I need to do after work. Pick up her cake, put her presents away, and then write her another message. I’ve checked her wall 5 times in the last hour alone. Throughout the day I’ve posted pictures of horses, princesses and flowers on her wall. All of her favorite things. I look again and I see that my messages are slowly being pushed down by the messages of others, of people who care about her as well. The “we miss you’s” and “happy birthday princess” flood her screen. I look up at the clock in agitation. It is 5 o’clock and I can finally go home.
Traffic is no better on my way home than it is was on my way to work. I get my cell phone out at a red light and jot out a quick message to her again. Letting her know that even in the rush of getting home I haven’t forgotten her. I pull into the bakery on the way home. I ordered her cake a few weeks ago. It’s a single layer sheet cake decorated with a princess riding atop a horse. The lady across the counter smiles at me sadly and hands me the cake at “no charge”. She too pities me because it seems like everyone else she knows that I won’t be seeing my daughter today.
When I get back to the house the sun is fading in the background. I nudge the door open with my shoulder and drop my bag at my feet. I am exhausted in every way. I place the cake on the counter, planning on taking the cake and the flowers to her tomorrow. I pick up the stuffed horse I got her last week from the kitchen counter and head to the back of the house. I stop at her bedroom, the door slightly ajar. I peek in to the find the dog sleeping in her bed. He too misses her today. I wake the dog up, shooing him from the bedroom before placing the horse on her bed and then I leave. I don’t want to spend too much time in her room. I stand outside her door for a moment trying to shake the day off before I realize that I need to message her again.
The screen comes to life before me, the only light illuminating my tired face. My mind is blank and my hand is on auto pilot. I can’t stop myself. I need to talk to her, to tell her how much I miss her, to let her know that I think of her daily. I need to tell her that I can’t wait to see her again. My eyes latch on to the images before me and I’m clicking through the pages. Before I know it I see her face stretch across the screen. My breath catches in my throat. I miss her so much. I am clicking and typing, searching for her page again, looking for the words I least want to read but I know if I want to write on her wall I just have to get past them. Finally I find my little girls page.
“In loving memory of…”
Traffic is horrible. I jump when I hear a blaring horn somewhere to my right. I look to see an angry man drive aggressively around the car that had pulled out in front of him. My heart sinking I instinctively look to the back seat. I don’t want her to be afraid. She isn’t there though. The only thing in the back of my car is an empty booster seat unused for over a year and her favorite stuffed bear. What would she look? She would have a tooth missing by now. Her freckles splashed across her face, so much like my own. Her hair would be longer, perhaps even as long as mine. I hear another horn and suddenly the angry driver disappears and I am on that dark road again. My car caught in the headlights of that speeding truck on the wrong side of the road. I swerve to miss but it’s too late. I hear the shatter of glass and a scream from behind me and then nothing. Suddenly I am back in the present, and the driver behind is honking their horn. The light is green. I think of my daughter again and my heart aches a bit at the idea of not being able to see her today. I reach for my cell phone. I have to tell her.
“I miss you so much. Can’t wait until I can see you again,” I write on her wall.
Everyone is staring at me as I enter work. Their eyes dart to my face and away. They are afraid to approach me, afraid to say something that may remind me that today I will not be able to see my daughter. I see their looks of pity and hurry as fast I can to my office. I wish they would act normal. I wish they wouldn’t act as if I were about to break. My boss is waiting for me beside of my office. I prepare myself because I’m over an hour late. As I get closer though all I can see is his small sad smile. He too is going to treat me differently today.
“You could have just stayed home today we’re not really that busy you know.” He says as he steps away from the door frame.
I try to smile at him but it comes out as more of a grimace and silently I enter my office and shut the door. I don’t feel like being polite today when no one is able to act normal.
I find that the work day only seems to drag on slowly. But I didn’t want to be at home today if she couldn’t be there with me. My mind is everywhere else but on the pile of work in front me. I thought being at work would help me keep my mind off of her but it doesn’t. I count off the things I need to do after work. Pick up her cake, put her presents away, and then write her another message. I’ve checked her wall 5 times in the last hour alone. Throughout the day I’ve posted pictures of horses, princesses and flowers on her wall. All of her favorite things. I look again and I see that my messages are slowly being pushed down by the messages of others, of people who care about her as well. The “we miss you’s” and “happy birthday princess” flood her screen. I look up at the clock in agitation. It is 5 o’clock and I can finally go home.
Traffic is no better on my way home than it is was on my way to work. I get my cell phone out at a red light and jot out a quick message to her again. Letting her know that even in the rush of getting home I haven’t forgotten her. I pull into the bakery on the way home. I ordered her cake a few weeks ago. It’s a single layer sheet cake decorated with a princess riding atop a horse. The lady across the counter smiles at me sadly and hands me the cake at “no charge”. She too pities me because it seems like everyone else she knows that I won’t be seeing my daughter today.
When I get back to the house the sun is fading in the background. I nudge the door open with my shoulder and drop my bag at my feet. I am exhausted in every way. I place the cake on the counter, planning on taking the cake and the flowers to her tomorrow. I pick up the stuffed horse I got her last week from the kitchen counter and head to the back of the house. I stop at her bedroom, the door slightly ajar. I peek in to the find the dog sleeping in her bed. He too misses her today. I wake the dog up, shooing him from the bedroom before placing the horse on her bed and then I leave. I don’t want to spend too much time in her room. I stand outside her door for a moment trying to shake the day off before I realize that I need to message her again.
The screen comes to life before me, the only light illuminating my tired face. My mind is blank and my hand is on auto pilot. I can’t stop myself. I need to talk to her, to tell her how much I miss her, to let her know that I think of her daily. I need to tell her that I can’t wait to see her again. My eyes latch on to the images before me and I’m clicking through the pages. Before I know it I see her face stretch across the screen. My breath catches in my throat. I miss her so much. I am clicking and typing, searching for her page again, looking for the words I least want to read but I know if I want to write on her wall I just have to get past them. Finally I find my little girls page.
“In loving memory of…”