Sometimes I think I’m imagining it. That the tears and the over-reactions and the oh-my-god-I-can’t-breathe moments are all part of… something else.
Sometimes I read others’ stories, stories of sick children, lost children, unimaginable things happening to children and their families. Things that no one should have to go through. Things I probably couldn’t bear.
So I wonder – am I making this up? Something feels…desperately wrong not quite right, so do I blow things out of proportion to justify my feelings?
In moments of calm, I feel mostly okay. Okay but anxious – anxious about how this will be resolved. When it will be resolved.
When the waves come I can’t imagine that this will ever be better. I can’t see what I need to do. I worry that my husband will say, “Enough.”
I know I’ve got to make it work.
When I feel like staying in bed I force myself to get up and do something.
When I feel like I’m about to drown I tell someone and they throw me a rope.
When I feel like running away I question whether that would really help anything.
So far I’m making it. Even if it feels like I’m making it up as I go along.
Reach Toward Light by Damien Share
