I’ve noticed that in the last couple of months life has gotten a little easier for me. I still miss you like crazy, and I still get sad when I think about all the things you’re missing. But for the most part I wake up, get the kids dressed and fed, and I do the whole “mom” thing.
But every once in a while, I catch myself staring at your picture and I can’t help but feel overcome with grief all over again. It’s like you die again, every time I see that picture. It feels like a semi truck has parked itself on my chest. It gets hard to breath and I start to shake. I feel like screaming, but I’m afraid if I do I won’t be able to stop. I want to break things and punch the wall. I want to lock myself in the bathroom and never come out. And the scariest part? Not even my kids can snap me out of it.
Momma, I wish I could say I’ve moved on and that I’m happy. But I’m not. And it’s worse because Dad thinks it’s ok to parade around the “her.” And I understand you told him it was ok to be with “her.” But Momma, you’ve only been gone 9 months tomorrow. Nine months. That’s it. And I know they’ve been seeing each other for the better part of a decade, but you were the one he spent 30+ years with. You’re the one he had children with. You’re the one he vowed to love and honor. I can’t stand to see them splashed all over Facebook together. Did you know they went to Cover Bridge together this year? I was CRUSHED! You always LOVED the Cover Bridge Festival!
Which brings me to Thanksgiving. How the hell am I supposed to get through Thanksgiving without you? That is your favorite holiday. I remember going to dad and your house every year. I’d watch you finish up the cooking. And you and Dad would sneak pieces of food. And you’d fight over the wish bone. And Dad would usually beat you. Well, except the year you cheated! Which was awesome! Haha I didn’t think about it then, but now I kind of wonder if your wish came true.
If I could have one wish this Thanksgiving, it would be to somehow afford to make a trip to Kansas to spend Thanksgiving with my sisters. It’s not like I want Dad to be alone that day. Not at all. But I have a feeling he’s going to have “her” over that day. And I DO NOT want to see “her” on your favorite holiday. And not to be mean, but she does not cook as good as you do. I don’t want “her” Thanksgiving dinner.
Oh Momma. That heavy feeling is back and I’ve got tears in my eyes. The kids are playing on the floor in front of me, and I don’t want them to see me this way. I must have been lying when I said it was getting easier. This is not “easy” at all. It will never get easy. I’m going to live with this pain the rest of my life. Seven stages of death, my ass. I’m past the anger, but I don’t think there’s any way past the sadness part.
Baby L is calling for me. He’s probably hungry. Again. Jesus, I wish you could see that boy!
I love you Momma! I’ll always love you. Forever and ever.