After Corey's accident, every sunrise found me in a fit of sobbing because every morning brought the dawning, ripping-open reality that my younger daughter is not in a place where I can hold her, touch her, talk to her as I always have.
Ever since the dream visit from her last week, throughout the day, and every night when I lie down in bed I summon the determination to connect with her in the new way. Slowly, the desire to connect with her now--wherever she is --is becoming so strong that it is pushing aside some measure of the grief. In this way, I hope to emerge.
I do not pray to have this weight lifted from me because I understand it is some necessary part of being human. I only pray for the way to talk to my daughter: to be given new ears with which to hear her voice.