Fragile

Tonight I feel so fragile, like I could break into a thousand pieces. This was confirmed at bath time. My son got angry with me because I asked him to brush his teeth. He told me, “if daddy wasn’t dead I would have him tuck me in tonight instead of you!” I immediately began hysterical crying. I just couldn’t help the tears streaming down my face. He then started to cry with his face buried in the wall. My daughter who was lying on the bathroom floor said, “Daddy died?” and started crying as well. I scooped them into my arms and the three of us just cried and cried. I got us all to calm down and continued on our night time routine.

It has not been a good week.

I am tired of the drama with my family. You think you are helping me but you are not. You don’t have an inkling of what I am going through and feeling. You are lucky that you haven’t a clue. But don’t pretend you are trying to understand me and give me advice and help me – you are not helping me. You cannot fix me right now – I am grieving. To me grieving means leave me alone and stop asking me – anything at all.

This is a lonely road I travel. But some roads must be walked down alone. You cannot come with me, hold my hand or make me take a different route. This is my pain, my tragedy and my life. Maybe I should take this as sign my life is getting back to normal. The fighting with my family. It doesn’t feel normal though.

I feel like my back is against a wall and nothing is happening quick enough or easy. Six and half weeks – and life is still utterly ridiculously sad and hard.

This morning taking my son to school with my daughter in tow it was pouring and freezing. I pushed the stroller with both of them clinging to it as I cried – but no one could tell because of the amount of rain and I was yelling at you in my head. I was cold, very wet and so tired I felt like I was sleep walking and you are dead. You don’t have to deal with any of this crap. You are dead and I am doing everything – every little thing all by myself. Not just the parenting, but everything. Every decision I make I must do alone, every second of every day is just me. I hate it. I keep looking over my shoulder waiting for you to walk up and tell me everything is going to be O.K. Everything is going to be fine.

Nothing is fine – nothing is working the way it is supposed to and I am tired of it.

Then I remember that you are missing everything. The good and the bad. This just makes me feel worse. You are missing how smart and amazing your children are – you are missing being with me – you are missing all that life has to offer.

So then instead of yelling at you, I am yelling for you. I still miss you as much as I did the first day you died. Maybe even more. I am still walking the tightrope of emotions of love and hate.

I am still hoping a teeny tiny bit that they made a mistake at the hospital. That it wasn’t you I saw in the casket and it is just some terrible mix up and you will walk through our front door and all will be as it should.

I miss you and wish you would visit me in my dreams. I don’t know where you are. I want to talk to you again so very very badly. I want you to answer me. I am tried of talking to myself. Maybe I am going crazy.

This week is almost over and it couldn’t come soon enough. Hanukkah is in two days. I am exhausted from the everything. I feel like I can’t make any right decisions. I feel like I am trying to make too many people happy or appease them and I don’t know which way is up.

I feel like hiding in my bed tomorrow and I can’t because it is Thursday and everyone has to go to school and I have more on my to-do list than I did yesterday.

Just freaking great . . .