It always hits you. Again and again it hits you, the sense of loss.
You do things--wake up, fix the trash, come home--and remember how it used to be when she was there, your baby, your baby.
How terribly empty life has been since she died, how terribly ugly it has been.
Every day is a reminder of what you've lost and what will never be again.
The desolation is immense, seemingly endless.
There is no mercy in surviving.
