Focus
It is funny the amount of stuff that has to change. Mazzy died and we had to get a new shower curtain. The old one is steeped in bath time memories that were making it too hard to shower alone. I haven’t been able to eat anything from the pantry because every time I open it I remember her reaching up her arms and pulling down canned food. Everything that would be in the cabinet that might eat has a memory. I have the reflex to share my food with her and she isn’t there. It makes it hard to eat. We are having to change grocery stores because we live in a small town and the people that work there recognize us and will ask and we just aren’t ready for that. We are fully prepared to drive a few extra minutes out of our way just to pick up groceries. We have even played with the idea of buying in bulk at some mega-store so that we only have to do it once a month. Making a weekly trip doesn’t have the same appeal now that we don’t have a baby to show off. Imagine that.
This past week has felt like a month.
A year.
An eternity.
Every time that I get sad, or angry, or scared, I take a moment to say “Thank You” because I know how lucky we were to have her. I shared her with everyone and no one doubts how bright and strong and happy she was. I don’t regret, so when I hurt, I say a word of thanks because I was blessed enough to know that amazing child.
In all of this pain and bitterness, I don’t want it to come across like I am ungrateful. I am not. I don’t question, I don’t doubt, I just accept because I have nothing else I can do. I have to accept that my daughter had to go.
I am trying to be positive. We have a ton of free time, now. We have NO idea what to do with it. It is just space. It is long days that stretch in to longer nights and the weight drags me down, just a bit.
We ran in to Mike from Stef’s NA group. He has asked me to come back, even though I don’t have an addiction, and share. He is offering his support and friendship and I might just take it. I may very well need a group of people, mostly men, who won’t completely lose their shit every time I open my mouth. Mike is offering the meeting like a poor man’s grief counseling and I am almost looking forward to it. I just don’t know when I will feel up to leaving Adam alone at night. We will see how things play out.
In an effort to distract myself, I have purchased a stack of romance novels. Nothing says avoiding reality like historical romances.
This past week has felt like a month.
A year.
An eternity.
Every time that I get sad, or angry, or scared, I take a moment to say “Thank You” because I know how lucky we were to have her. I shared her with everyone and no one doubts how bright and strong and happy she was. I don’t regret, so when I hurt, I say a word of thanks because I was blessed enough to know that amazing child.
In all of this pain and bitterness, I don’t want it to come across like I am ungrateful. I am not. I don’t question, I don’t doubt, I just accept because I have nothing else I can do. I have to accept that my daughter had to go.
I am trying to be positive. We have a ton of free time, now. We have NO idea what to do with it. It is just space. It is long days that stretch in to longer nights and the weight drags me down, just a bit.
We ran in to Mike from Stef’s NA group. He has asked me to come back, even though I don’t have an addiction, and share. He is offering his support and friendship and I might just take it. I may very well need a group of people, mostly men, who won’t completely lose their shit every time I open my mouth. Mike is offering the meeting like a poor man’s grief counseling and I am almost looking forward to it. I just don’t know when I will feel up to leaving Adam alone at night. We will see how things play out.
In an effort to distract myself, I have purchased a stack of romance novels. Nothing says avoiding reality like historical romances.
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