Two-and-a-half months

Two and a half months...more than that. 81 days. 81 days since I've seen my baby girl. Actually 82 since I saw her. Since I held her hand. I miss her so deeply. Sometimes it's something I see that I want to buy her. Sometimes it's wanting to call or text her. I want to hear her. I want to hug her. I want to know she's safe and I KNOW that she is safe; how could she not be, she's in heaven, but I'm her mom and I want to see her and know. I want to look into her eyes, those big, beautiful blue eyes with the twinkle of mischief in them. The big laugh where she threw her head back. 

Days seem so long now. So painfully long and gray. There are good things that happen, but there is always the sadness lurking in the corner. I know it's impossible to be the same after this. But what was wrong with how it was? A million little things were wrong, the bipolar, the mood swings, the experimenting with drugs, the anger she had, the friends, the arguing we would do. We wanted her to move forward into adulthood one little step at a time. We had gotten her the apartment. I wasn't even sure that was a good idea. She didn't have a job yet and was using weed so I didn't even know if she could get a job as I didn't think she'd pass any drug test. But I was hopeful that once she had the apartment, she would be motivated to be able to keep it, that she might actually like it and wonder why she'd held back so long. I know she was scared, scared to grow up and step out of what she knew. Growing up IS scary. I remember talking with Tim many times about what if we were expecting too much of her because of her bipolar? What if she would never be able to actually move out on her own and be able to function as we thought was "normal."  I was fine if we had to get a house eventually and have her have like a "mother-in-law" place of her own attached to the house. I was really wondering if that's how it was going to have to be so that she could have the best of both, whatever level she could function best at, still having the security of us being there, but having her own space, too. I guess all of that is moot now. Did we put too much pressure on her in light of her limitations with the bipolar? Maybe that had something to do with her using. Maybe she knew that we had unrealistic expectations of her and maybe she knew herself best after all and it depressed her that she'd never "be" whatever it was she thought we expected. Maybe we expected too much. Maybe we tried to shove her into a round hole when she was a square peg. I didn't understand. And maybe my lack of understanding her, I contributed to her depression. I wanted to understand her. We both did. She rarely let us in. I was always craving a close relationship with her, to have her spill her heart to me, and me be able to the same to her. I know she craved that, too, with me, with us, but I think there was that fear of being that vulnerable with anyone. And what a failure on my part that I didn't make her feel like she could, that talking to her mom was the safest place to bare her soul.  I miss her so much. I'm so sorry for failing you, Amanda. I failed to make you feel safe. I failed to listen to your heart, listen through the screaming or fits to hear the heart of what was the matter. I wanted you to be okay, Der, and you were as okay as you could be. I'm so sorry if I ever made you feel that that was not enough. You WERE enough. Maybe I deserve to have you gone. You were better than I deserved to have for a daughter. I failed you. I'm sorry. Sorrier than anyone else could ever know or understand. I love you, Amanda, and I can't wait to see you again. I pray you will forgive me.