"I wish I didn't have to go back"
"I know. Maybe you can come back and visit again sometime"
"I hope so. You don't know how bad I don't want to leave here. I wish I could stay down here"
"I know you do. Maybe someday. You just have to take a day at a time"
"I know"
"You never know. They said that you couldn't do lots of things (Including visit home) but you've proved them wrong"
"Yeah, I suppose"
I can't even imagine how upset she was having to go back to that nursing home. I was about to bawl, I can't imagine what it was like for her.
I think the thing that hurt me the most was when I went to wash my hands. Coming out of the bathroom hearing all the familiar voices and seeing her in her house again. It was so hard. So normal yet I know it can never be that way.
I got a chance to go through some of her things yesterday. I found an old Valentine's card I had sent her. It said "They say some genes skip a generation...and it seems we're the only ones with the smart genes" and I had written at the bottom "too bad it's not smart-aleck genes". God we were so alike. I put some laundry up and I saw her favorite shirt. I put it on over my shirt and it felt like she was hugging me. I could still feel her hugging me, what her skin felt like and feeling her breathing and [cant finish this, it hurts too much]
I was getting ice out of the refrigerator and I noticed some things on there. I picture I drew when I was 12. A picture of her house that I cross-stitched and turned into a magnent. And the worst one: best grandma award 1996, that i had sewn.
Her being there, it made everything so much harder on me. But nothing as hard as the first time after the accident. Seeing her shoes, the bowl of cereal she had eaten, and her bed not made. She always made the bed, no matter what. she probably thought that she could do it later.
I even miss the way she would answer the phone. I miss her handwriting. I miss the way she sounded when she talked with my head against her chest. I miss the way her arms fit exactly around me, and the way her skin was so soft. I miss calling her out of the blue to talk about nothing. I miss the way her car sounded. I miss the way she would turn the steering wheel when turning a corner. It's the stupid little things like that that make it hard.
Does this ever stop hurting? Am I ever going to be able to think about it without crying? But I am afraid to. I am afraid to forget how she feels next to my skin, how she sang, how she could fix anything that was wrong in my life (from boys to babies to beach boys), how she'd hold me and I loved the way her breath sounded.
I have to stop. I can't see to type anymore because I am crying so hard.
Closing the door, once and for all - 07.25.2004
random crap, and yes I suck. - 07.20.2004
fuck everyone - 07.18.2004
On Religion - 07.12.2004
Getting it all out - 07.11.2004