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Though others perceive me from the outside as strong, I know that I am more fragile now than ever before.

If you have not experienced the death of your own child, you simply cannot attempt to feel what I feel or understand how broken I am. This is the only place I can believe that statements such as “You are the strongest person I know” can possibly come from. And I know this to be truth, since before Zev’s death I could not even begin to try to fathom a grief so encompassing or a sorrow so deep.

The smallest actions still set me off, three years later. Sights, sounds and smells evoke intense memories. Joyful times remembered can cause an acutely painful sting.

At times I feel as if I am alone in a glass tower; inside looking out from my secret, shadowed world of fractured memories and silent torment. Watching the people live their lives, unchanged by the death and the agony around them. The sun still shines, the earth rotates on it’s axis, the days march onward, yet I am forever rooted in time with my darling girl. What a strange feeling it can be… to continue to age and live my life without feeling any forward momentum. Measuring time is difficult. It is as though the years that have elapsed since she left this plane of existence didn’t truly pass. She is always eight years old in my mind. And that is how my years were always measured, by her birthdays.

*sigh*

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