Its now been over a month since Zoë stopped hurting, but my pain is as fresh as ever.
Laura and I have been home from our trip now for almost a week and there are reminders of hopes and dreams everywhere. I want to be as strong as so many people perceive me. My sleep schedule is completely reversed. Last night I went to bed when I used to be waking up for work. I know time heals all wounds, one day at a time, one foot after another, one heartbeat before the next....That isn't fast enough for my needs.
I thought I heard Laura say that someone might have found the balloons that we launched from Fenway Park, the balloons that Zoë released from her long, skinny piano fingers.
Cancer just sucks. It sneaks in through the back door unannounced and uninvited and takes the most important people away from us. I wish someone would have just robbed my house instead. At least that way, I could just buy a new t.v. and other things and move on feeling only slightly violated for a while. My daughter though.... I'm not a violent person, but I feel like if someone pushed my daughter down on the ground or punched her in the face, I would have someone to be angry with. Someone to retaliate against, to beat up or embarrass for messing with my family. Her cancer cells are dead. And in the wake of their progressive replication, I'm left feeling completely lost.
I feared that I would forget her laugh, or her smiles. Then I thought that part of the healing process would include forgetting enough where I am left in a place where I can remember enough to enjoy our time together and not enough to take on her pain as my own.