I hate waking up in the morning as the soft sunlight filters through my newly-installed windows onto the brand new crown moulding in my freshly-painted bedroom (all of which Mike enjoyed for less than one week).
Inevitably, my very first conscious thought is “no.” As in, “I don’t want to face this reality anymore.” But here it is, every minute of every day, forever. I hate this.
Last night, during family cry time, Marley told me that she wakes up every day, hoping that all of this was a bad dream and that daddy would be lying next to her in bed.
Amen, sister.
It’s weird how little things come back and haunt you.
I remember after Avery was born, somebody (I really don’t remember who) said something like “oh what a perfect little family” (you know, one man, one woman, one boy and one girl) in kind of a snide/jealous/not so nice way.
Right now I’m have these reflexive, hateful thoughts toward that person. Isn’t that crazy?
On the flip side, the kindness and generosity coming from so many people continues to bless our lives. I love having visitors; it brings much needed positive energy into the house and makes us feel loved and less lonely.
But alone time (as rare as it has been) is appreciated, too. Although I am much less likely to embrace it. It seems like its the only time I’ve been able to have a really good cry and shout at the sky about the injustice of my children losing their father, me losing my life partner, and the destruction of my “perfect” family.
Thanks for letting me rant.