Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, ...

How did you like the play?

My life is a shambles. My work is suffering. My mental health is suffering. My heart is suffering. 

"How are you?" 

Fine. Thank you. 

"It must be a hard time. I've been thinking about you."

Thank you. I'm surviving. 

But am I?

I've been deep down inside me. The is no "there" there. It's nothing. I have a hard time thinking about the future. Making a long term plan has as much meaning as what we are having for dinner tomorrow night. And I care about it just as much, which is to say, not in the least. 

I think I want to go away. Away seems like it would be a nice place. I might say anywhere but here. But I really don't care. Here is as good of a place as any.  

Inertia. Deceleration. Stopping. I could stop. It would be easy. 

I try to breathe in and out. I try to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I can't look up. There is no "there" there. 

Happy Mother's Day

I I don't know how to be "that mom."  You know: the mom that has lost a kid. I'm not supposed to be that mom. I'm supposed to be a normal mom. 

I want a normal day for Mother's Day. I don't need flowers or presents or jewelry.  I don't need a store bought card (or even a homemade one, though those things would be lovely. I just want a normal day.  

I want a day when my heart doesn't break. 

I want a day when Libby is happy. 

I want a day to mow the lawn and not think about when the girls were small and would use dandelions to make crowns for their heads. 

I want a day to not worry about my mental health or Libby's mental health or Libby's school or my work or money or cooking or weeding the flowerbeds or what we should have for dinner. 

A. Day. To. Not. Worry. 

A day to be normal. 

Remember in the play Our Town where Emily gets to go back and relive a day?  Just an ordinary day. It can't be anything special.  

I want an ordinary day as a mother of two. Two sets of hugs. Two sets of kisses. I want to be an ordinary mom. 

Perseverance.

Some days it's not worth getting out of bed. I'd pray for strength to persevere, but to whom should I pray?  I'm not sure I believe.