In my life, I've only had a broken heart twice.

It's been really difficult for me. Days go by and I don't even think about it, but then there are nights where I'm lying in bed and she's all I can think about. In a single evening as I attempt to drift off to sleep, I go through all of those so-called "stages" of grief. The worst of it is thinking that I went home knowing what was going to happen. But what would have been worse? What happened, or getting that phone call? I have no idea how I would have handled the latter.

The guilt is the worst part.

I knew what was going to happen. We got a new cat this weekend, because of one that needed a home and we always want to help. As I sat around the house with this tiny six-week kitten asleep in my lap, I felt so guilty. I felt like I will never be able to do this cat justice. I will never be able to give it the love it deserves because I've already done that and I can never do it again. I don't know if that's true, and I guess the only way I'll find out is to see how I feel weeks or months from now.

Sometimes I just miss her so much.