I'm not strong all the time. It's late nights like these, after I'm finished doing a mediocre job of ensuring that my two kids don't kill themselves for the day, when I'm left feeling quite empty and I just want to drown all my sorrows in a.) a slew of curse words b.) alcohol, c.) bitter, envious thoughts or d.) all of the above.
A recipe for danger.
I know in my heart that I need to stay focused on the big picture here... but at the same time, what's a little danger? I think it's healthy to take some time to be angry, weak and pitiful. As long as it is done responsibly... and sparingly. So here I am; wallowing in my depression, thinking of all the great things Matt and I will never have together that everyone else will and I'll have the pleasure of watching with a smile on my face. My kids are going to grow up without their dad, I'm a single widowed mother, I'm going back to school with a 9-month old who is addicted to my boob and won't take a bottle and a two-year old who grabs knives out of the dishwasher and runs with them. Ahhh... life is so great.
In the recent weeks following Matt's death I would stay awake as long as I could because I never wanted tomorrow to come. Now that it's become pretty obvious that I can't stop time by becoming an insomniac, I celebrate the evenings - one more day is over. I think I need to pray and go to bed. One more day is over.
I'm not strong all the time.