I'm weary.
This cannot be fixed by sleeping, by resting. I don't know what "fixes" it. But it is an exhaustion I feel deep in my bones, in the very marrow of my bones.
I miss you.
I go to work, I think I'm effective there, but when I get home it's like I'm back to slogging through the mud again.
I mean, this is hard! I buried you this year (literally, on January 2nd). My parents aren't doing well and there's the whole concern there.
And in a couple weeks, it will just be Daddy and me. It hasn't been that way for almost 33 years. I remember when the big kids were little wondering what it would be like to have an empty nest. Some days it looked really enticing. But then you came along and that whole "this could be good" feeling disappeared faster than the dew in the hot morning sun.
I mean, I knew the day would come, but I figured it would be after Michael had left and come back from his mission. I didn't think it would happen when he left the house. I figured you'd still be here.
This morning, "You Raise Me Up" was on my playlist as I drove to work. Aaron, you did lift me, and you still do. And so do your siblings, and my grandchildren, and your Daddy.
You give me strength to carry on, to move forward, to keep trying. The mountains surround me, protecting and comforting.
And sometimes, I'm still swamped and feel like I'm drowning.
I guess that's okay, that duality of being held and strengthened, and still feeling overwhelmed and so broken.
So weary.
I love you, kiddo.
I miss you.
But I'll keep going.
Love,
Mama
“It is the capacity to feel consuming grief and pain and despair that also allows me to embrace love and joy and beauty with my whole heart. I must let it all in.”
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