Being Home

After my lovely 6 day vacation, it was time to come home.  The boys and I were tired, we wanted our own beds, and we wanted familiar surroundings.

I didn’t realize how much being home would hurt.

It’s almost a continual sadness.   Away from home, I could *forget* and just enjoy most of everything.   In fact I did, a couple times, referring to Mark in the present tense.

And then reminders would come up and I would get sad at how he would have liked this or would have liked that, then I would refocus and carry on creating good memories for the boys.

Then the drive home.  And as we got closer, and closer, my heart/chest got heavier and heavier.

When I woke up this morning, I woke up in sadness.  I woke up feeling the loss of him and his presence.  I woke up, did what was necessary, all the while with the ache and twisty-ness and emotions clogging up my body.

My kids are all home.  My home is clean and peaceful.  My husband is not here…and he never will be again.  And being home hurts.

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