Time is suspended, speeding up, nonexistent as we approach the 10th anniversary. Each day is different. Yesterday on the way back to Raleigh from the beach, I met a woman at a rest stop who asked to use my cell phone. She had been visiting her daughter and left her purse there with all of her money and her cell phone. She told her daughter that in the midst of hugging and hugging, she forgot it. I got back in the car on my way, and burst into tears, missing my own daughter.
Today nuances of those times back 10 years ago slide into my consciousness. Ten years ago today is the last time I saw Leah, the last time I got a hug from her. A feeling of how it felt when I heard she was in the accident. A feeling I had at the hospital, on the way there, talking to her friends. With each glimpse, I let it be there, know it is not real here in this moment, and just be with the feelings. Some of the feelings are not possible to put into words. The desperation of a mother faced to continue on without her daughter. Ten years have passed, and she is still not here.
