Stomping on the flaming bag of turd that was 2007.

Last entry for the year. This has been the longest year of my life. It has been not particularly joyful. I haven’t laughed like I did. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

My ILs are in south Texas. That’s where they winter. Back in September, FIL said (when I was faced with staying at Mayo with Stephen or weaning Amelia) “we all need to make sacrifices.” Amelia ended up going back to nursing but I remember being so angry. Most of what I was feeling to that point was frustration, sadness, indecision but never anger. God, after all, has promised to provide for us and has the plan. He holds the map, right? But just then, I was angry. Hurt at the inequities of it all. He winters in Texas, enjoying his retirement, and I’m stuck here in the snow with no help and 2 small children.

Stephen was his son. I get that. I never wanted to be in the way of that relationship. Stephen was never close to his mom not in the same way.

The ILs sent a small package from TX for the girls and I. Not much since they are flying us there at the end of January. There were ornaments for the girls. The ornaments were small, empty picture frames with “2007” under the frame. First of all, why spend the time and energy for a trinket like that? Second, what is there that we want to remember for the year? I will, forever, see the year as a black mark and heave a little sigh that it is over.

But really, will anything change tomorrow? What does the difference of a day make? A week? Will next week be different? A month? A year? There is no magic in the turning of the year. It’s symbolic of starting over. But nothing really changes.

If you would have told me, last new year’s eve, that this is how the year would go, I’d have called you all liars. I’d have run from it. I’d have done anything to keep the future from happening. And maybe that’s why we don’t know. Maybe that’s the betrayal that must happen in order for us to keep marching on. We don’t know and we have to hold out for something better. There has to be something better.

It’s called hope.

When my faith is shattered, mind has turned to playdoh, nerves are on edge, eyelids and tits droopy, at least I can hope for a better day. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

Or maybe I’ll just be in my lazyboy, eating oreos in my PJs, watching Animal Planet.


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