Running on Empty

I have sat here, at the computer, countless times in the past few days.  My heart is heavy with much that I wish to say, yet words fail me.  It seems as though anything  I could say would be redundant.  I have expressed the feelings of my heart in every way that I know how.  There are only so many ways to say that it hurts, that I miss her, and that I want her back.

  I have posted most of the pictures that show how beautiful she was.  I have told the stories of her radiant personality.  I have shared the memories of her spunky, mischevious side. The pictures, stories and memories are of a limited supply.   Suddenly I find that there is little left to tell, a testimony to the fact that our time with her was far too short. 

The pain continues, much like a throbbing, pulsating headache that will not quit.  It is, in many ways, less messy and chaotic.  Tears are no longer a daily occurrence.  In fact, at times it seems that my supply of tears has run dry.  Still, the pain seems to become deeper, more ingrained into the fiber of my being with each passing day.   It also becomes more intensely personal and more difficult to express or share.   As days turn into months and the months a year, as lives move on, as our tragedy becomes a part of history, my own sorrow and sadness becomes increasingly private.

I recently had someone tell me that I "must be doing better" because my blog posts are not to being written with as much frequency.  The truth is that I still wonder if we are going to make it through this.  I often question the old adage "God will never give you what you can't handle" and I think that maybe we really cannot handle this one.  I know that God is good and that he will never leave us nor forsake us.  I KNOW it, but more often than not, I do not FEEL it. 

Some days it feels as though I am running out of things to help me cope.  How many times have I pressed my lips to her photos?  I've knelt at her grave too many times to count.    Her scent remains on only her pink blanket and her bear.  I live in fear of the day her scent is no longer there, often resisting the urge to hold it close to me, fearing that too much handling of it will transfer my own scent to it.  I've rubbed her hair swatch against my cheek and placed my hand over her hand print.  I've done everything I can think for some feeling of comfort, only to find that all of these things are temporary, the pain never leaves.