Sometimes it’s so difficult.

Sometimes I want to pull my hair out. Run away until I can’t hear any of the complaining, moaning, begging, fighting, jabbing, painful, hurtful, negative shit.

It comes from all directions, really. From everyone.

If you’re reading this, it’s probably not you. Or, maybe it is.

Mostly it pains me to feel so angry, empty.

Sometimes a good, ugly cry makes it better. Most the time it just gives me a headache.

Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, really. Things come and go. Right now, they’re coming. And like I said, coming from all directions.

Sometimes (always) it’s hard being the only girl in the house. Sometimes it’s hard not knowing where I fit in, who I fit in with, where I should be.

Here, there, anywhere but here and there.

It’s all so confusing.

It’s times like these I want to hide. Melt into the darkest corner. Crawl into a box. Disappear under the bed.

But really I’d rather go dance around in an empty field somewhere near a mountain or ocean. Alone. NO YELLING. NO ARGUING. NO BACK TALK. NO PAINFUL YELLING THAT LEAVES MY HEART CRUSHED.

That’s what I want. An open field near an ocean or mountain. Or both. I want … quietness. I want to be still. I want to hear my heartbeat. Remember what it feels like to be … me.

Sometimes that’s all we need. An escape.

In my mind, I am there.

Today has been a tough day for me, many of my friends and many of those I follow on Twitter and on blogs across North America-and the entire world.
Today is Rashale’s 10th birthday and Maddie’s 2nd.
And neither of them is here to celebrate with us.
It’s easy to say it’s not fair and we need an explanation. It isn’t fair. We do want an explanation.
We can’t always have one. And that sucks. It sucks so extremely bad.
Rashale battled osteosarcoma and won. She then died unexpectedly … and without much explanation.
Maddie was born premature and then battled the odds. She was happy. She was beautiful. She was full of life. But it was hard on her little body when she got sick.
I never met Maddie or her parents. She came into my life via the Internet, as she did for hundreds of thousands of others. She came into my life when I was already down for the count. Rashale had passed, and I was a wreck. I carry other people’s sadness as my own, and I was heavy with hurt. I hardly knew Rashale, but then again, I knew her well. We had shared e-mails, telephone calls, giggles, bathroom breaks, dinners, jokes, special moments. I saw her with her “hair off.” I held her hand and carried her on my back. I touched her foot when others weren’t even allowed to see it. We bonded quickly and her death killed a part of me.

So when Maddie died, I lost it. I told fellow Hoosier blogger Casey, of mooshinindy.com, that I almost felt embarrassed to be so sad about Maddie. It’s sometimes hard to mourn the loss of someone you never met, even if you feel true sadness. It’s hard to explain. I tried my best that day. Casey understood. We both shared stories about how our husbands must’ve felt when we were curled up in balls over the death of a daughter that wasn’t our own. At least Casey KNEW Maddie. She visited her home. Played with her. Her Maddie was like my Rashale.
Casey organized a March of Dimes walk in Maddie’s honor in Indianapolis, and I was there. It was one of the only times I met Casey. She was surrounded by loving friends, friends of hers, friends of Maddie’s mommy and daddy, and then a few of us who never met any of them. I won’t say I wasn’t feeling a bit out of place, because I was. I didn’t feel like I fit in with this group of amazing women who all had a gaping wound in their hearts. But I walked on, for Maddie. I got over my nervousness and awkwardness. I didn’t get over the sadness.

So … today a lot of us are sad, but happy at the same time. Enjoyed to have known … even for a glimpse … two very special, sweet, amazing, brave little girls who will forever live in our hearts.
Here’s to you, girlie girls. We miss you. We love you. We’ll see you again one day.
I hope you’re both dancing and giggling together right now at your very special birthday parties.
XOXO

I remember the last time the leaves changed. It might be the last time I truly marveled at the site of it all. The way the earth looks like it’s on fire. The way the colors burst against a bright blue sky.

I remember the last time the leaves changed. I carried you on my back through the park. We laughed and shared stories. You wanted to see the squirrels. The squirrels, for some reason, amazed you. Now I know how the small things are amazing. I’m glad you taught me that. If only for a day or two …

Walking through the streets, I saw the looks. I saw the people do a double-take, wondering what was wrong. If they were seeing things correctly. The silent conversations. The disbelief. I don’t think you even noticed. I’m glad you didn’t. We just laughed and enjoyed the sunshine. Stopped to pose for photos. Listened to the fountain. Wondered what it would be like to live in one of the stately mansions that surrounded the park. Thought about the candy we were about to go buy. You know. Normal stuff on a not-so-normal couple days.

In some ways, it seems like days ago that we giggled together in the stalls of the restaurant bathroom. Yesterday that you ate more of my dinner than your own. It was like, what, an hour ago that we raced through the candy store, filling the bag full of cinnamon candies, jelly candies and sour candies. Seconds ago that I patted you on the head and said, “I’m proud of you, girlie girl. I’ll see you soon. OK?”

Alas. It was almost a year ago. How is that so?

I never saw you again. And as I type this, I’m trying to remember if I ever even talked to you again. Surely I did. Right? My heart hurts thinking too hard about it. So I try not to. One day soon I’ll go through my e-mails and see what we talked about. I’m sure we did talk on the phone. Maybe a couple times I checked in to see how you were doing, learning to walk again. I do remember that now. It was always hard to catch you at a good time. I tried. I can’t remember. I hurt too much trying to remember.

You are with me now. When the sun shines down, sometimes I hear your voice. When the leaves change, I hear your heart-melting giggle. When the wind blows just the right way, or I see a squirrel scurry up a tree in my front yard, I’m sure you’re about to call me on the phone …

“Miss Kasey? It’s Rashale.”

Well, Rashale. This time, I’m calling you.

“Miss Rashale? It’s Kasey. How are you feeling? I picture you dancing in the clouds. I bet it’s beautiful where you are. I just know you have so many new friends, and I bet you all dance and giggle all day long. I hope you are enjoying all the rice and beans you can eat. It is, after all, your 10th birthday this week! Can you believe it?! I asked a few people to join with me to wear pink or purple on your birthday, Nov. 11, since I know you’d have liked that we all wear your favorite color. So, happy birthday, girlie girl. We all miss you, but know we will dance again one day.”

I love this time of year, when everything is alive and bright and vibrant one minute then falling the next. Feels like life … things are great one minute then not so much the next.