Sunday evening has arrived and my headache has passed. I am okay. I worked myself up with the remembrance day and what to do, what to expect, what is expected etc. The tough part, the night is yet to come, but I think I'll make it okay. My body gave me a week of hell-headache - showing physically what's torturing me mentally. We went to her grave today and I sat in the grass with one girl at a time in my lap talking about Clara. It felt natural again. Sitting there in the grass at the same height. You know graveyards where you've got gravel paths in front of all graves and you bend down or look down from above. It's rather a strange feeling: looking down. Much better to be at the same height and making the visit more than just a quick stop, pick some brown leaves, light a candle and leave.
Of course I am sad. I have a deep rooted sadness in the shape of a yarnball in the bottom of my stomach. You could almost compare it to being pregnant. Carrying something you care for without a real sense of what it looks like or how it will turn out some day.
These extremely low days can only be saved by taking a power walk with my dog and loud music in my ears to not be able to think at all. Of course the last part never works out. You think anyway. I picked some lily of the valleys, which I came across on my walk. Put them in water, next to her christening candle and a little glass angel on the window sill overlooking the forest.
I miss you, my dear daughter. I miss your calmness, miss your diva-ish way of waking up - stretching your arms over your head and yawning big. I miss seeing you with your sisters. You were the one they turned to, their centre. I know they miss you too. I know they feel like something is missing. Even if they can't express it.
I long to see and to be with you, but I need to take care of your sisters and father first. And after all you aren't far, are you. We feel you around us.
Love,
