There are a finite amount of days we have in our lives. People dream of material things while others seek the experience of the moment.
In the 17 months and 21 days since Mali died, material things matter little to me anymore. Not that it ever did really.
Life is an undulating, rocky path with small breaks of calm and peacefulness. I just want peace.
The chaos and despair that have ruled my life since she left have slowly moved towards the back of mind instead of front and center. It has to. I push it back, else I am consumed by her loss.
My suffering instead is offered up to God in reparation for the sins I have committed in my life.
How I miss that beautiful, wonderful child and the joy that radiated from every ounce of her being.
That hole in my heart will never fill. I’m holding it for her. I don’t want to fill it. It will always be hers.
I am actually starting to remember small things, moments we shared. Everyday little things that may seem inconsequential. She used to wake up on Saturday morning. If I was still asleep she would hop into bed and pry my eyes open with her little fingers. We would laugh and play. I’d make her whatever she wanted for breakfast or we would hit up the diner. One of her favorite breakfast places.
I dream about her more.
Slowly the agony that was my armor, so heavy and
clumsy I can start to dismantle and start to set aside. I hope that my wounds outside my heart may start to heal a little.
I hope I get to see her at the end of my time here. That’s all I want now. A short life and Mali at the end of it.