Is it wrong…really, really wrong…that I want to take my books and go hide in a cave somewhere?
I am surrounded by things that either make me sad, angry or tired. I know, I know…I should look into myself and see plenty of sadness, anger and fatigue. On one hand, there is a marriage on the rocks. On the other, there is a sick kid. And then there is a sick mama.
(My only joy today is the brand new baby, at home for her first night with her family. Welcome to the world, baby Marta! You could not have been born into a better family.)
I want to be supportive, I really do. I have to know that I’m not the only one to lose a baby or to bury a husband. Stephen and I didn’t have a perfect marriage and I certainly regret sweating the small stuff. And how I’d take it all back for another chance.
Time moves slower for me. It’s still really raw. Even losing Will, almost six years ago, is still a little chafed. Not as raw as it was. Having the girls helps with the scabbing over of that wound.
But the wound that was left by Stephen’s death, the empty space in by body (my soul?) that he used to occupy is still gaping and really quite gooey.