Im not ready.
Im not ready to admit to six years. Im not ready yet. Im just not. And maybe that makes me a bad person, someone whos stuck on not moving forward, I don’t know. I just know Im not ready. Im not ready to admit to it being six years.
For the past, six years, I havent turned the calendars from December to January. I move straight into February. Maybe it has part to do with this month, maybe it doesn’t. But January doesn’t exist if I have anything to do with it. I avoid the day like the plague. Careful to avoid it, step around it, tip toe carefully, not wanting to “Upset” it. But sometimes there is no avoiding it, and this year…it happens to be the topic everyone talks about.
Everyone laughs about the day, saying the numbers mean something. Saying it must be a good day.
But its not. It’s a day I want to forget, to will out of existence. I don’t want to admit to it being six years.
And truthfully, Im worried about the days following. I worry about falling into another version of what happens every year. Im worried about it. I don’t want to go there. Im fine with how things are, were, the way they were. I don’t want to admit. That it will be six years. Don’t want to acknowledge it. I just. Don’t.
I miss her, and every year that goes by, is just another year…added to the years…the years I wish would just…disappear.
I don’t want to acknowledge the day, don’t want it to exist. I just wish…it would all go away, and since it wont, I don’t know what to do. Time moves on, things happen, life continues…
But some things hold me up a little longer.
Something’s, like acknowledging that it will be six years since I have seen my little girl…are harder to accept than others.
And six…just isn’t proving to be my number.