I worry a lot about things. All things. Not in a ‘when is the other shoe going to drop’ sort of way because after all – I’m pretty much standing here naked.  I worry about raising my son without his father around. The father that was so excited to have a baby. A father that was not willing to believe the pregnancy test was accurate after trying and being disappointed for so many years – showing me that this affected him much more than I realized. A father who was so laid back but firm all at the same time. A father who just had a way about him that I will never have. I worry that I don’t know all of his stories. I worry that I’ll forget ours. I worry that I don’t know all of his family stories…all of his likes and dislikes. I worry that I didn’t ask him more questions when he was alive – questions about his childhood, his life before me. I worry that I talked to much of my own.

It makes me wonder why it wasn’t me that died. He wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t perfect but so much of the time I feel like he could have handled all of this so much better than I am handling it. After all, I was so afraid to be a mother to a son. I don’t know the first thing about boys.

And then my son reminds me in the weirdest way that he is learning ‘to be a boy’ from me just fine by sitting on his potty today and holding his ‘thing’ down so it doesn’t spray all over. He actually listened and learned from me – about something that I don’t have.

I still worry though. I still wonder.

I worry about whether or not people are going to be here for him when he gets older. The people that knew his father. The people that know stories about him that I don’t even know (or maybe want to know). I think this is my greatest worry.

I worry that I haven’t hit my wall. My low point. Actually, I don’t worry about that. I know I haven’t. I just worry about the time it does hit me. There are so many factors that I feel are not letting me grieve in massive amounts at one time…The fact that I am a mother to a young son. The fact that I am the only one who can get things done. The fact that I have to get out of bed every day. The fact that I’m it. The fact that I don’t believe this is really my life. The fact that it still isn’t true that he is gone.

I worry that my smile now is nothing like the smile I see in pictures when I was with him. I worry that the happiness, complete happiness, even in the difficult times, will never be a part of my life again. I’d love to feel that again. That feeling. I bet if you took a picture of me to look at my aura you would see half of it missing or maybe right now – nothing at all.

This is just so unfair. Why him? Why us?

Explore posts in the same categories: Flying Dodo, Uncategorized

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