Robin (July 6, 1997 to August 31, 1997).
I'm missing her terribly today. You would think I'd be over it, almost ten years have passed, or that I'd wait until September first, when it usually hits me, but I've been missing her more and more this week.
Guess part of it is Heather going off to BYU, and Win driving her. Part of it is getting to bed too early and part is not eating in the place of emotion.
I don't know, I just know that I miss her. I'll probably be emotionally friable for a few days, will need to watch myself so I don't take offense or give it (and let me apologize here, right now, if I've managed to offend someone this week and haven't noticed). I'd say I'm not myself, but I'm not sure, on a day like this, what my self is.
From the lack of comments on my last couple of essays, I'd say that not being sure what my self is isn't the only thing I don't know, but it is a start on the topic.
Missing you Robin, wishing you were here.