The Truth Is

It has been a month since my mom died, and this anxious, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is only getting worse. I love my girls, but I miss her.

I am lonely. I believe in homeschooling, but I haven't been able to work more than a half day a week, and I tell you, being home all the time is making me bitter. It's freaking hard to be a with a two year old and a sixth month old all the time. And they're boys! I am not that interested in the things Liam is interested in. It's hard feigning interest in construction vehicles every day.
How can I homeschool and still meet my needs? I feel like I am stuck between doing what I believe is a better choice for the boys and doing what I think I need.
I am just afraid if I don't find a job, I will lead this tiny, lonely, insignificant life for decades. I guess I should get out more. But it's chilly out!

I am up too late-tomorrow will be rough. I got caught up making photo books on Shutterfly and the time passes so quickly doing that.

Most of the time, I am okay with everything, but underneath it all, I find I am waiting for everything to go back to the way it was, and then I try to realize that it won't, and you know, that hurts. I will never talk to my mom again. I can't feel her. And when I do, I can't help but think I am imagining it. I guess I should be happy with that, but it's hard.

I can have faith in seeing her again, why not if I can make that choice? but it doesn't help the here and now.
It doesn't help that everyone goes through this. The lack of "specialness" in the pain, somehow diminishes my right to feel the pain, I feel.

Sigh. Well. I can't go too far down that road, because despair is not useful.
I am probably just overly tired. I never was a night person.

And that's the truth of it.




Thank God for Karl.