It’s been an ordinary day, not unlike any of the others in the past 3.5 months but today my grief metre filled and overflowed.
I’m mentally exhausted. Physically exhausted. Emotionally broken.
As I write this, this is my view:
Laying broken on his bedroom floor staring at the basically life size photo his brothers require to have in here.
The days where it all catches up is the worst. You think maybe, just maybe you can manage and then realize nope, not today.
The toll this all has taken on our household is indescribable. My kids used to be so good with going to bed and sleeping. Not any more. It’s a battle of anxiety and fear. They cry out that they are scared, that they can never be alone, that they don’t want to die, and they are up and down all night or really early in the morning. Then the rare mornings they somehow sleep in we grab the monitor and zoom in looking for any sign of their chest rising and falling and fighting the urge to bust down doors. I understand this is all a part of this awful process but it’s physically tiring on John and I. Then I feel guilty that I’m so exasperated and tired when I should be supportive and understanding. I just need my kids to feel safe and sleep again. Like I said, I understand why we can’t but it makes this impossible situation harder.
It makes moments like this happen. You push through and push through and you give and give until you can’t and you find yourself laying on your sons floor in a pool of tears holding his minion toy his sister just gave you to hold.
was is a hard day.