When Michele asked me to write here, there is only one thing I clearly remember her saying in the brief - write as honestly as I can from where I am NOW.
So that's what I try to do each week.... write my now.
As honestly as I can.
My soul stripped bare.
Some weeks, I am OK. Good even. But other weeks, I am not so good.
This is one of those weeks.
I am sick. My chest rattles as I suck air in and out. My head pounds. My eyes leak. My energy has evaporated and I am light headed whenever I try to do anything.
I am tired.
I am sick of the petty squabbles over who farted on who's pillow.
I am tired of cooking and cleaning when I am not working or preparing for work.
I am sick of being in charge of everything. All the big things and all the small things.
I feel like I'm sinking under the weight of a life that was meant to have two parents involved in bringing up the children.
I am angry at a God I no longer believe in (
If anyone had told me I'd still be feeling this aching pain 26 months later, I think I would have given up right then and there when I first heard the news that he was dead.
I feel like I am going backwards into my grief when I have been trying so long to move forwards through it.
This is not like me at all.
I am a do-er.
A great believer in the almighty I CAN do it.
And I always achieve what I set my mind to.
Except when I don't.
Early this morning, I sat on
....and then my kids came in with their
The small things they had painstakingly made out of bits and bobs they had collected.
....and they hugged me, and told me I was the best mother in the world (
...and I realised....
I am loved.
Life still sucks beyond the telling of it, but I am loved.
These two little souls are here, in front of me, looking at me like I am the most precious jewel they have ever seen.
Holding me in their arms.
Telling me that they love me so much.
....and I say a silent prayer of thanks to the God I no longer believe in.
The God of small things....