Mon, September 7, 1998

The more I try and think about it, the worse it gets. Sometimes, it doesn't even feel like a bad dream, it just feels like something I think happened but really hasn't.

I am sitting in Lisa's hospital room right now and the reality of Amy's loss isn't here. Amy might be at home with Jean. She might be at a friend's house spending the night. She might be at the movies with Calyn or Grandma.

I had the image two Monday's ago of sitting on a box of pain and trying to keep down the lid. But, it wasn't working. Along the edges, things were getting through.

It hasn't diminished. Writing about it, getting thoughts down on 'paper' seems to help. I thought that something like that might get me through, writing about it, playing our familiar songs, making pictures with Lisa. It stalls it, pushes it back, but it isn't going to diminish it. The best it can do is help me regulate the speed at which I go through it.