My daughter will never be a cashier

My daughter died six years ago

Well, six years and two months
Ago
I try not to think about her
It’s tricky because she’s all I think about
I miss her so much 
This creates anger and confusion but most of all sadness
Sadness that part of me is dead
Sadness that she isn’t coming back 
Sadness when I hear her name in passing 
Or I look up in the middle of a hectic shopping trip to see
The young cashier has the same name as my daughter
And blue eyes too
And my heart feels like it’s been ingested with a lethal dose of speed 
I just want to escape so I can scream in private
Instead I stand there like a fool
Thinking of my daughter the cashier
Hello? Ma’am? 
But I pretend she’s saying “Mom”
Just so I can give myself a reason to smile and walk away
My daughter died six years ago
Six years and two months
Ago. 

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