When you've suffered a great loss, even a simple thing like reading a newspaper becomes difficult, as you're never sure where you're going to encounter fodder for heartache. I've learned that even in the sports section, you can find something that just sucker punches you in an unexpected way.

I was reading about Ty Wigginton, a player for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, and the story was about how he delivered his second son. Just reading about him and his wife, and their shared experience reminded me of everything I missed out on, and I'm still missing out on. While I love Baby Girl more than life itself, I was never the "I want a bay-by!!!" type of girl. I wanted a baby with him.

It might seem like that's the same thing, but it's not. I wanted us to share doctors' visits, to be awed together at the picture of the sonogram, to be able to tell our kids about the night they were born. I wanted to see him cuddle his daughter, to see them fall asleep together, to take pictures of the two most important people in my life.

And all that was shattered in a the blink of an eye.

I don't know what tomorrow holds. I don't know if I am going to have more kids (I do hope so, though). All I do know is that even if I do have other kids, I know the fear that I will lose one of them, or the father, will never be far. It'll always be lurking around, skulking in the corners. And even if we do all the couple-y stuff (going to the sonogram together, our first picture as a family, etc.), that won't change the fact that I was supposed to have all that with Pablo.

Damn, how is it that something as simple as an answering machine can knock you flat on your ass (figuratively speaking)?

I was working at the dining room table, reading some property questions, and Baby Girl was in the kitchen, playing with the answering machine (which we don't use, because our phone has voicemail). I kept hearing the original message (the one that comes on the machine) when I heard Pablo's voice. I convinced myself that it was just me hearing things in my head. After hearing it several more times, I got up and found Baby Girl. I took the machine from her, and checked the greetings, and lo and behold, there's Pablo saying hello, and that he can't come to the phone. That voice, that's so fucking familiar - yet I haven't heard it in two years. I couldn't contain myself and the tears just overcame me. Baby Girl thought I was laughing, and she started laughing nervously, but when she saw that I was crying, she held my head, stroked my face and just said "No llores, mami" (don't cry, mommy). Of course that just set off a fresh jag of tears. When Baby Girl said "papi" I finally smiled through the tears, and played it for her, so she could hear his voice.

It's incredibly fucked up that my daughter has to hear her dad's voice through a message that is 3 1/2 years old. My sense of fairness is extremely stretched to the limit at those moments.

Sigh.

Well, happy Valentine's day.

This is an odd little day for me. We never made a big deal about Valentine's Day, partly beause I think it's a made-up holiday, and partly because we were usually saving money. So we never really did the big V-day dinner, or anything in that vein. As a matter of fact,


So why is it that I miss the flowers? The candies? Actually, fuck all that stuff, I miss him. I miss the talking, the hugging, the hand-holding, the knowing he's there for me.

I really wanted to write more, but what else is there left for me to say?

It's weird how some days can go from okay, even good, to crappy as hell in under 5 seconds. Yesterday, I was chugging along, studying (which is the reason I haven't been able to post a new blog), and feeling pretty good because I was nailing my questions. Shoot, I didn't even have to use my AK - I gotta say it was a good day.

Then I go to pick up Baby Girl from her uncle's house, and on our way back, I'm rocking to some reggaeton, bopping my head. And it happens, a song from our past comes on the radio (Tono Rosario's "Cojelo", for those of you who care). If my life had a soundtrack, that's where the needle would have screeched to a halt. It was a slap in the face, and all of a sudden I was back at all the countless parties we went to together. It was a reminder of a lot of happy memories and also of the fact that those happy memories are pretty much all I've got left.

I hate when a simple song can do that to you.