There are times that it feels like Rory existed in a different life.
We moved just a couple of weeks after she died.
So she never walked these halls.
She never had a room in this house.
She didn’t color on any walls.
She didn’t potty train, read stories, or play games here.
When I look around, there are no Rory memories.
She never set her sweet feet in this house.
A couple of months ago one of her socks fell out of one of her boxes in the basement.
I couldn’t bring myself to put it away or even move it.
It’s a reminder.
She was real. She was ours. We were whole.
We’re speeding (sometimes crawling!) toward the third anniversary of her death.
Three years.
That’s no time. And a lifetime.
I miss that girl! My soul yearns for hers.
I’m eager for the days that this life and our other life combine and we can be one again.
Rory Ann Moore Foundation 