It’s 11.45pm. I’m exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can barely stay upright. The ticking of the clock is too loud.
But I don’t want to go to bed.
I don’t want to lay in our bed.
I don’t want to sleep alone.
I don’t want to wake alone.
I don’t want to realize that there’s another day without him.
It’s like the layer of numbness is coming off… and I’m aware, oh so painfully aware of his absence.
Going to work every day is making it more evident.
I gave up something tonight, just for the interim, that is important to me because my kids need me. They need some consistency and some stability and the safety of knowing Mom is going to be there.
I’ll go back in the fall – but for right now – my kids need me. They need me because their Dad died.
It’s a choice I’m making – to be the best Mom I can possibly be – but I’m not happy about HAVING to make the choice.
I want him back. Not just the dreams of him. Not just the memories of him. Not just the echoes of his voice in my head.
I want him.
I want my life back.
I want my children to have their life back.
I really don’t want to go to bed – but I can’t sleep where I’m sitting – it would be incredibly uncomfortable by the end of the night.