It was a less-than-good day. Just a long string of triggers, one right after the other.
I woke up feeling sadder than usual.
I made a smoothie for breakfast and finally used up some of the frozen mango chunks in the freezer—they used to be a staple for Hudson’s snack.
Ed and I walked to work together (him to the metro, me to my office just beyond) and realized it was the first time we’d done that since before Hudson was born.
Once I got to work, I got a message from the Southwest executive who has been helping us saying that they still haven’t found the journal, that they would keep looking, but that it “seems like it must not have made it through our normal process.” I called Ed from the law school student lounge to tell him and had my first crying fit on the job.
Then I had to sit through two hours of benefits orientation, learning about emergency room co-pays and hospital services and the 24-hour medical line that would be available (something in hindsight I wish I’d thought to use in the wee hours of May 10 with my old plan—maybe they would have told me to go the ER ASAP). And about life insurance for dependent children—apparently they’re not worth anything until they are 14 days old. From 14 days to 6 months, they are worth $500. And between 6 months and 19 years, you can get up to $10,000 for them. WTF?
By the time I was done with that, I just wanted to go home and cry. And it was only 2:00. At 4:00, I did go home and cry.
Three days to recover and then it’s back for more on Monday. I know it will get better. And then it will get worse. And then it will get better. It is what it is. I miss my little girl and I want her back. Everything else is background noise.