the little things ... not so little now

As a heartbroken mother who has recently lost her daughter to suicide, the smallest everyday tasks have become excruciatingly difficult. Each mundane moment is a painful reminder of the void left by Sophie's absence. Going into the supermarket, a place where I used to lovingly pick out special treats for my lactose-intolerant daughter, has become an emotional ordeal. Now, I sadly walk past the very items that once brought her joy.

Sorting through the laundry basket, I find Sophie's clothing, still carrying her scent. The dilemma of whether to wash it away or leave it as a cherished memory tears at my heart. The post continues to be delivered, but instead of handing it over to Sophie with a smile, I'm left wondering what to do with it, a painful reminder of her absence.

Even routine visits to the dentist have become a painful reminder. We used to go together as a family since our children were babies, starting them early to get used to the experience. Sophie's car in the car park serves as a daily testament to her accomplishments, especially how she learned to drive and overcame obstacles during the challenging times of COVID-19. The late-night lessons I gave her in that car, substituting for her instructor who fell ill, are etched in my memory. But now, the question looms: do I dare drive it?

Inside our home, Sophie's toiletries and personal belongings remain, a silent testimony to her presence. What am I supposed to do with these tangible pieces of her life? Each item holds a precious memory, and deciding their fate feels like another unbearable burden in my already shattered world.