Abigail's flowers

Abigail's flowers, originally uploaded by 2QTsInHeaven.

Well, hyacinth season is passed. The heat of summer is upon us, and spring is gone for yet another year. Spring has never been a favorite season of mine, and it's even less favored in the shadow of Anne's absence. It's hard not to be continually reminded that she should be here. My heart is quite lonely for my girls.

My son is frantically scrambling to get accepted into the Army. My husband has forgotten I exist--the jackass has become such an asshole and the most loveless affectionless mutherfukker since my stepfather (and the verbal abuse & profanity that spews forth from both son & husband, omg!).

I'm just so deeply & desparingly lonely. I leave notes on Facebook walls only to be ignored. There's not a single pre-Abigail friend left. I have a few post-Anne friends left--gals who I met in varying support groups after I lost Abigail. Most have fallen by the wayside or gotten ultra busy in their new lives.

I grow increasingly debilitated by fibromyalgia, diabetes & arthritis--that second baby burial didn't do any favors to my health. I can't help but feel the world pointing their harsh finger at me. In my inner ear I hear them say, "you brought it on yourself." Maybe so, but for her I'd do anything. It's just that she wasn't supposed to die.

My friends & family weren't supposed to run for the hills either, but I guess stuff happens. I find myself on Twitter a lot trying to find someone--anyone--who might tweet with me. I'm starved for someone to love me & care for me. Oh well.

I guess I'm just remarkably overwhelmed by the isolated heartache. I think of Jesus when He went into the Garden to pray with his friends--friends who slept rather than comforted. Even Jesus said, "can't you even sit with me for an hour?"

I guess if even Jesus' friends couldn't take any take time for Him what makes me think mine would take time for me? What's so anguishing is that no one's even bothered to ask how I'm doing, let alone actually being the Good Samaritan in the aid of my broken life.

Poor me, right?