We could have found our way back to each other in a better way, under better circumstances. They gave her 18-24 months. She squeaked out an extra 5 because no one tells her what to do or when to die. I miss her every day. As an adult, I long for the type of love she gave me as a child. I wanted more time. I wanted our reunion to not take place in a hospital. Our relationship was a grassy playground summer, followed by a fiery red fall where no leaf was left unturned, then a thick and foggy winter blizzard. It was cold and harsh, but at least I could see it and feel it. I was banking on basking in the sunny reward of seasons changing. We were all looking out the window for a spring that never came. Instead weather just stopped altogether, and I'm not sure how a human is supposed to live in the absence of elements. It isn't fair and I'm still not done throwing a tantrum about it. To make up for the last three years, I want three straight years of my head on her chest and her voice saying something, anything soothing. I want three years, but I'd take three seconds. It's the only thing I can ever think of that would make me feel better. And it's not coming.