Time is not a healer of loss. Every day is a motion of going on with life, but who I am is still immovable from where Dollbaby’s life stopped. As she stopped, so did I. The difference after three years is that my unconscious knows that she’s not physically here anymore. I don’t see her walking just in the corner of my vision anymore — that’s her younger sister. I don’t wake up reaching for her in her place by my head. I am slowly building up a rough coat that keeps me from breaking down just by mentioning her to someone. I still cannot bear to have a photo of her on display. What is a photo when she’s still a living, breathing part of my heart? I only have to close my eyes to feel her breathe under my hands or under my cheek. My heart is full to bursting with love for my dearest friend, the one that has left me.
My fury, my rage, towards her murderer has not been set aside. Perhaps this anger is what continues to make it hurt so much and why I can’t shift past the horrible way Dollbaby died. I write this as a testimony that time is not easing the pain. I still can’t think of Dollbaby and just be happy about our thousands of happy hours together because the awful cruelty of her end is so immense.
As I’m writing this, Chii has settled next to my right wrist in front of the keyboard. She appeared as soon as tears started to fall. She’s purring faintly and is just being near. I scheduled myself to teach a class tonight during the hour that Dollbaby took her last breath. I don’t know if that’s a shield or not.