I wish this was some sort of mistake.
I can't believe it.
I miss them from the depths of my being.
I am grateful I spent the time I did with them and know that I am the luckiest mom in the world.
I try to find a way to undo this.
Some small part of me truly believes I can figure out a way to bring them back.
The rest of me knows I can't.
I spend a little time pretending they're just at school or asleep in their beds, because for a few seconds it feels good.
I'm heartbroken all over again when I realize they're not at school or asleep in their beds.
I want to know why them...why me?
I think there must be a reason.
I don't want to do it anymore, but know I have to.
I somehow get out of bed.
I rely on my friends.
I feel in my gut that they're ok and here somewhere.
I have to remember to breathe.
I feel guilty for all the things I did wrong...all the times I was impatient, overcritical, too controlling or wrapped up in my own little world.
I feel guilty for letting them get in that car that day, when Peter wouldn't stop crying. I should have known something was wrong.
I wish I had said goodbye and hugged and kissed them one more time because now I can't.
I think that if I could have somehow known, I would've done everything differently.
I wonder if maybe I did something to cause this or if I'm being punished.
I know I would give absolutely anything to have them back.
I over schedule myself, knowing that the faster time goes, the sooner I will be with them.
I try to figure out what my purpose is now.
I wonder if I'll ever have more kids.
I cook because it's the one thing that truly engages me mentally and physically.
I try to be ok.
I am extremely grateful for all the people who support me and pray for me.
I wonder what Kate and Peter would want me to do and if they're watching.
I want to honor their lives and make them proud.