Thanksgiving

A post from an earlier time when my husband died

Almost every single morning I lay in bed and think… today is it. Today is the day I will turn the corner. Today is a fresh start and a chance to do things well. You just have to get up and claim it.

And I really believe it's true, this idea of positive energy and creating your own life.

I don’t remember when it started to be difficult to get out of bed in the morning. I honestly can’t remember life before Tim was diagnosed. I don’t think I ever sprang out of bed like Tigger, eager to tackle the day.

But I also don’t remember laying in bed wishing I didn’t have to get up. Wishing I wasn’t a grown-up with responsibilities. Wishing I could just pull the covers up over my head for another day or two.

For sure I know I wasn’t laying in bed, desperate to not be the single mother and widow that I am.

I guess some days it’s self-pity. But most days it isn’t really that. It’s not that I feel sorry for myself or think “Why me?” It’s just that I wish circumstances weren’t what they are.

I don’t want the responsibility for every decision on my shoulders. Will there ever be a day when someone will happily take on my life with me? Will I be able to happily take on theirs in return?

A day to focus on thankfulness. I believe in it with all my heart. I know I have a life full of love and blessings and amazing people. I have a healthy, full of piss and vinegar son. I know my attitude is mine to choose. I know it. I believe it. I’m determined.

And yet, I’ve been upright less than an hour and I am full of tears.

And emptiness.

And sadness.

Shit, not again.