A piece missing

While driving in the car last week, I found myself singing along with the Lily Allen CD in the player. Then I froze when I realized that I haven't done that since Kherrington's death. I used to sing in the car, and while I was pregnant with her, I made a point to sing or talk to her while driving every day.

For a few moments, I had this weird feeling. It is a feeling that I have experienced before, but never like this. For a brief period of time, I felt as though nothing had ever happened, that I was never pregnant, and that Kherrington had not died. For a moment, I felt sort-of like the "old me". Then I felt incredibly guilty, and suddenly missed her so much. How could I have had that feeling? It is funny, how life carries on and the days get easier, and then something happens to re-affirm reality.

Then I started thinking about how I am different now. I wonder if my laugh is the same, or if my smile comes from my heart. I have been forcing smiles for so long, the real ones are such a relief when they happen, because I don't have to think "OK, you need to smile now, or else people will wonder". I now look at my body (in terms of pregnancy) as a dangerous place. In any subsequent pregnancy, I will likely not imagine the baby in there all warm, healthy, and bouncing around in the fluid joyfully kicking my bladder. I will see the baby in there as being helpless, and the kicks will be wonderful when they happen, and when they don't, I know I will likely panic.

While talking with my best bud Iris from My Life In Purple the next day, she said something that is very accurate. She said "You're still Marjorie, or 'Mo', but now, there is a piece missing". I am still the basic Me, but a piece left with Kherrington that I know I will never get back.