Doing the dishes

Her birthday is just a couple weeks away. It is so strange not making plans for it. Last year we went to SalaThai, it was a family dinner with cousins, flowers and presents. We had a yummy vegan chocolate cake for desert, she blew out all the candles, I wonder what she wished for?

I have a photo from that night, she was so beautiful.

In her life with me she was always my little girl, my baby. She just had these cheeks and this sweetness, she melted me. She could piss me off too, but it didn't last long, all she had to do was give me those big blue eyes, a crooked smile and I was a goner.

On her birthday I am going to bring her favorite chocolate cake from Whole foods, all the tea stuff she was saving, and a big blanket to the cemetery. I am going to have Sunday tea with my girl on the grass that covers the place where her body is buried.

I never thought I would be one of those tragic people.

Today I bought paper. I don't know why, I just woke up needing more paper. I am making a little book with trees and flowers, an angel with huge wings, and glittery stars. I keep drawing and painting these scenes over and over again. I want to imagine what heaven looks like, I want to find a way to be their with her. I guess I am visiting her with paint and ink. Do I have it right Stevie?

Some where out there in a bubble in the universe is a girl with long hair and pirates smile. She is sitting under a big redwood tree that is a million years old. She is dressed in blue and surrounded by piles of beautiful books and brilliant flowers. It is sunny and perfectly warm, there is music in the air, soft music that sounds like sighing, waves rolling in, and a mother singing in the kitchen off key while she does the dishes.

She is not lonely or tired or sick. She is not waiting, or worrying. She is not sad.

She just is...

Here in this room, is a mother who is missing her girl, who is making books, drawing big trees and talking to her girl as if she were right here with her. She is surrounded by family and piles of new paper, she sings Stevie's baby songs as she washes the dishes and looks out the window wondering, and sometimes crying.

She has a life that needs to be lived but she is lonely and tired. She is waiting and worrying and she is so very sad.

This just is.

I miss you sweet girl of mine.

Mommy