Wednesday, February 18, 2015
My son's birthday was a couple of weeks ago. It's always a hard time for me, watching the festivities go on without R. Suddenly I am tearing up at the smallest things. I know he is watching, but he is not here with us. I feel bad for my son, not having his Daddy there. It was a whirlwind of a week with all the grandparents coming to visit and two parties, plus a party at school... after the PARTY party, on Saturday, I think I just hit my breaking point. Sunday, I was so depressed. I had a good cry that night, you know the kind where the pain in your chest will not go away; actual heartache. I cried myself to sleep. There have been many nights like that for me- I cry until I fall asleep. And when I get up in the morning tissues tumble onto the ground and I discover them in the pillows, etc... My tears are like parts of me that I leave around. Finding tissues that I unknowingly stuffed into the covers or the pillows is like finding little pieces of me that died. I cried this and that out, and here it is in this tissue. But the next day is always better and I can pick up those little pieces of me and throw them away. Gone. Moving on to a happier place. Having a good cry like that leaves me feeling raw and honest. Nothing anyone could do is more painful than that, so I don't feel scared of anything. You can't hurt me, I've already been though hell, you see.