My daughter, Short Stack, was 2-1/2 when Gavin died, and Caylee Anthony was nearly 3 when she “disappeared.” So every time I heard someone say, “how could a mother possibly hurt a little angel like that?,” speaking of what Casey allegedly did to her little girl, I took it a little personally.
That first year that Shortie and I were alone — the year from 2-1/2 to 3-1/2, which started on the hot summer day we came home from hospice without her Dad — was, in many ways, hell.
May 26, 2011
It's almost the fifth anniversary of Gavin's death. In the past, I would not have sent a note. I would have thought, "Sending a card is superfluous and even presumptuous. Supa certainly knows the date. You only talked to Gavin a few times. And you're lousy at keeping in touch, so it's weird to send something now."
From talking to you and reading your blog, I've learned that these thoughts aren't meaningful. Even though they still crop up, I'm ignoring them. I want you to know that I am still sorry for your loss. I will be thinking of you and Short Stack, especially on the 2nd. And I'll be hoping peace will be with you, Shorty, and Mr. Fresh.
After I was widowed, and coped with the bureaucracies from insurance companies to my own and my child's health insurance, to the MVA and how my home was titled, I realized how many essential privileges I'd had by virtue of marriage -- and how I'd taken them for granted. How their denial would make life so, so much more difficult at the worst time in my life already.