And I’m not so sure that means easier. Time doesn’t heal. It allows me to look at my past differently. I don’t heal. I don’t get through it. It might soften or be gentler on me some years.
Not this year.
Not now.
I am so fragile right now.
I didn’t want to do today. Thoughts were:
Maybe I could just go back to sleep. Probably they can all figure it out if I stay in bed all day. Get your ass up and get a grip. I don’t want to. No, don’t touch me. Give me a hug. I. Don’t. Want. To. I have layers like when another child is born. I didn’t divide the love. It grew. My grief is the same this year. It’s stacked. This is how it happens when you stuff your feelings. And so, I write. Don’t blow the cork. Layers of love. Layers of grief. Like legos. I’m a Lego house. Hmm. So foggy everywhere today. Eerie in the cemetary. Possibly the first year it has actually rained on her birthday. I feel too much pressure on this day. I don’t WANT to. Got my girl lottery tickets. She’s an adult now. An adult. And Jeremiah will be 20 next month. And sadness. Slumped shoulders. So much that I just don’t want to do. It’s too much. I don’t know how much more I can take. I’m mad. I want my kid. I want all my kids. Whole body aches. Gut is a wreck. Too much stress. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow. But I love her. But tomorrow. I love her.
Love until later,
Heidi
xoxox
heidi4ever
Love until later 