That itch is back, just under my skin. It’s like a clock ticking loudly while you’re trying to sleep, or a leaky pipe dripping that you can’t find no matter how much you root around.
It isn’t as simple as waking up one morning and realizing things aren’t the way you want them to be. Everybody makes adjustments in life, little tweaks here and there to their expectations based on the reality they’re facing. It happens, you know?
Today I broke down. It wasn’t one thing in particular that did it, but an accumulation of months of trying to be stronger than I am caught up to me. I’m tired of trying to figure out what to do all the time and trying to hold it all together and keep us all moving forward and happy.
Sometimes I need someone to come home with something special to cheer me up, or surprise me with plans to do something special. Just…something. Something different to break up the monotomy.
Alas, it isn’t going to happen. At least not anytime soon. Darrick has been too sick to even notice how restless I’ve become, and the girls are just kids. I’m I’m in charge of making their lives better and happy; not the other way around.
So I lost it. I’m ashamed of my behavior today. I yelled at my ten-year-old for not being able to figure out what cleaning supply to use to clean the bathroom, then pulled away from Darrick when he was trying to be nice and offer comfort.
He left to go to the store angry.
I curled up in bed for a good, ugly cry.
And a nap. I figured if it works for a grumpy four-year-old, it would work for a grumpy mommy.
I woke up feeling awful. I washed my face and did the dishes anyway.
I apologized to everyone and went about my day, but then I got a text message from my little one’s dad that Anya’s step-grandpa had passed away yesterday morning.
It rocked me. It breaks my heart for the whole family. We don’t talk anymore; it was a horrific split between my ex and I, and of course, being his family and all, I chose to cut myself off from them. There was a lot of bitter there for a long time where my ex was concerned. A lot of hurt and wreckage. It was tough as hell for me to let go of the situation and let things be in order for me to heal.
Now, nearly four years later, hearing the news hits me harder than I would have thought possible. He passed away from a heart attack, same as my father. And all I can think about is the first time I was welcomed into their home and made to feel like a part of the family. Enjoying Christmas together. Making plans for the baby and buying her everything she could want. Just hanging out at their house while my ex was at work and I wanted something to do.
I offered my sympathies to my ex via text, but text doesn’t convey emotion well and he just brushed it off anyways. We aren’t friends anymore, we barely even talk. It’s not the way I would have wanted things; It’s just how they worked out when the dust settled.
All I can do for that family now is say prayers of comfort, light a candle of remembrance, and smile about the way things were once.
I’ll send some flowers for the service to honor the short time I was part of their lives. Maybe it’ll make them smile, maybe they’ll just throw them out. But at least I’ll know I did the right thing.
People should always be remembered.
And I should always be grateful for the day, no matter what kind of day it was.
At least I had this day.