It's been 54 weeks and it is not any better - so the saying: "Time heals..." is a lie.  It cannot heal the broken heart - although, a broken heart is not what really what I have - I have a heart that is completely missing a piece.  It's missng the most vital piece - the piece that made my life complete - my daughter - my only child - my reason for living - my life -

I wrote a letter to a mother who is new to the "club" - her only son was murdered a few weeks ago.  This is one of the few times I can step out of my own grief.  I wish I had someone to take my hand in those early days - not to make it better - but, to prepare me as much as possible for the never-ending pain.

I need a teacher to teach me how I am "supposed" to grieve.  I don't know when it's okay to cry - when it's okay to smile - how much pretending is required to keep everyone at ease?  Some days, I just want to forget - but, I can't - other days, I just want to remember - that part is easy.

I feel selfish sometimes - because instead of thinking about Tash, I think about myself - my future - I am only 44, but, I worry about getting old - the questions of moving forward just keep coming:
- Who will take care of me as I get older?
- How will we celebrate the holidays?  Do we celebrate?  How do we manage with just us and an empty chair?
- What if Hans dies first?
- Who will ever want all this shit I have collected?   How about our photographs?  Scrapbooks?
- How do you plan a will when you have no one left to leave anything to?  No one cares about all of this -
- How will I cope when all my friends have grandchildren?  My lineage ends with me - there is no "after I'm gone..."

There are so many more questions than answers.  And, I know I shouldn't be thinking about me - but, I can't help it.  Those things scare me.

Some days, I curse my counselor - she talked me out of suicide - but, what am I here for?  That's the question that seems to have no answer...