fucking sucks.
The busy daytime moments are fine. The nights are tucked in with tears and frustration and and and insert whatever here: ________.
Filled out daycare paperwork today. All the blank spots for other parents info. The question about the parents relationship status and there being no “widow” option. So I wrote it in and circled it. The “what else do we need to know about your child” section filled in with words of death and separation. Doesn’t get easier.
The saying is that it will get easier. That this first year of anniversaries and birthdays and holidays are going to be the worst but it will get better. But it’s not years from now, it’s today. And in 2 days it will be our wedding anniversary. Knowing that years from now I probably won’t cry as much as I am this week doesn’t really help me feel better now, doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Somedays I wish I could temporarily abandon responsibility and drink and drink and be beholden to no one and nothing. But I know that I wouldn’t feel any better, I’d probably feel worse. But it would feel good for a little bit to unravel. The scales tip more towards it being beneficial that my son prevents me from losing my fucking mind.
Somedays I really wish I could pile his grief and my grief into a sack and toss it over a bridge and walk without the weight for just a bit until going to the banks to gather it up and shoulder it anew.
ad astra per aspera 