I needed something to do with my hands (so I can stop picking compulsively and let my sores heal), so I recently took up origami. I walked down to an art supply store and purchased gorgeous paper ($4 for 50 sheets--that's a lot of practice for your buck). When I arrived back at the apartment, I started to work. I like the quiet of it, being able to create and be still inside even if my hands are busying themselves with folds and creases.

I miss Cassie.

Sometimes I wish I could talk to her, or be still next to her, listen to her soft, deep breathing as she sleeps. Watch as her paws curl all at once, the eyes roll back and flicker like a bulb about to burn out--she's running in dreams. I miss that bond that is stronger than anything I have ever known.

I don't miss the father or the sister. I still have nightmares about the father, I don't know when they'll cease. I have some part of a deep peace just knowing I'm rivers away from him, that I'm safer in an urban city, alone, than I am in the suburbs with him close by. I feel sorry for my mother, and I do not know the depths of the pain she feels, what that kind of loss could feel like.

I have a lot of growing up to do, a lot of work to do before I can help others. But I'm trying.

I cannot wait to start my job as a pediatric staff nurse, I love kids so much. I do worry that I'll get too attached, that I'll get morose, flatter, if something bad happens. Mostly, experience has taught me that children have this special something adults forgot long ago, they have a tenacity and a toughness about them that is awe-inspiring. I'm always motivated to be a better person when I'm around children in a hospital. They're really strong, and they don't even know it.