My daughter, who is just about to turn 4, asked me the most innocent question. Maybe its because she saw their picture on the wall, or the baby that was on the show we were watching.
“Momma? Where’s Willow and Evangelene?”
That chipped at my heart. And I had to hold back the rush of emotion that swept over me.
I gave her the answer that the social workers were encouraging us to tell her. That they died.
My daughter doesn’t understand the concept of death; that its permanent and irreversable, and I wouldn’t expect her to.
What really breaks me to think about is my daughter asking me if they were sleeping while I held them in my hospital bed. At first I said they were, but that’s not really helpful in trying to get her to comprehend the situation. To know the truth.
She will understand more and more as she gets older, and she’ll ask me more questions. And I’ll tell her the truth.
I just want to say that over the past few weeks I have been really tired. Its a tired that won’t be satiated until my brain calms down. Until things in my life start to settle again, and I can get back into a routine. That’s what I really need right now is a routine.
My homework was to keep an eye out for any red flags signaling that I needed to slow down. Whelp, lets just say I failed. My therapist helped me realize that there were in fact many waving right in front of my face.
Long story short, I’m not going to try to “do it all” anymore. I’m not going to pack my schedule with jobs, appointments, and school to the point where every waking moment is penciled in. I still need time to heal, and running myself ragged isn’t helping.
I’m going to focus on one job, my recovery, and family.
Family is everything and one of the biggest reasons why I keep going.
Join me on my path back to hope~