There are times that it feels like Rory existed in a different life.
We moved just a couple of weeks after she died.
So she never walked these halls.
She never had a room in this house.
She didn’t color on any walls.
She didn’t potty train, read stories, or play games here.
When I look around, there are no Rory memories.
She never set her sweet feet in this house.
A couple of months ago one of her socks fell out of one of her boxes in the basement.
I couldn’t bring myself to put it away or even move it.
It’s a reminder.
She was real. She was ours. We were whole.
We’re speeding (sometimes crawling!) toward the third anniversary of her death.
That’s no time. And a lifetime.
I miss that girl! My soul yearns for hers.
I’m eager for the days that this life and our other life combine and we can be one again.