Hold My Hand

Dear Olivia,

Grieving sucks. When you think you’ve got nothing left to cry about, you’re wrong. When you think you can say something without crying because you’ve already cried when you said it the first hundred times, you still cry… I still cry. I’m getting use to the lump in my throats when people ask me how I’m doing or when they lean down to give me a hug. I know they ask because they care or don’t know what else to say, but when I say I’m okay I really mean nothing is truly okay, but I’m still going and trying to find my new normal without my daughter. I say I’m okay because I want to keep it simple. I’d rather not spill my guts out loud. For me, it’s much easier to put how I feel in words instead. I’ve realized that verbally talking about my feelings leaves me in maze of emotions that makes my day much harder to get through. 

Olivia, you left me with hundreds of beautiful memories. I wish I could focus on them. Instead, I keep thinking about all the things I miss about you on a daily and hourly basis. 

I’m constantly wondering if you can see me and if so do you see the pain I’m in without you . I wonder if you can hear me and how many times I lose my shit during the day and just start crying out of nowhere. Can you see how close I hold Sage when it’s bedtime? How terrified I am of anything happening to him? I cry every night. Trying to go to sleep is the worse. Even when it’s been an okay day, nights are still the hardest. I just want to tuck you in, give you a kiss and say goodnight, see you in the morning.  

If you can see or hear me, please hold my hand like I would hold your and make me feel better. 

I love you. 



2 thoughts on “Hold My Hand

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