it’s the little things that get me –
something as small as seeing
your pregnancy journal on the dresser,
that breaks my soul and
brings me to tears.
it’s not seeing your ashes everyday when
i wake up, or
seeing your face every time i look at your dad.
it’s not even looking at photos of you,
or thinking of all the what-ifs, or
telling your story.
no, its not those big, should-be difficult things.
it’s the little things, the omie-sized things,
that tear me down and remind me
i. am. not. okay.