I don’t feel lucky, most days. I hate the way he makes oatmeal leaving granules all over our new wood floors. I hate the way the oatmeal sloshes around his mouth after he shovels in giant spoonfuls before he hurries off to work or wherever. I hate the way the dried oatmeal sticks to the sides of our glass bowls after he half rinses them and lays them in the sink. But here’s the weirdest part – in spite of all of that, I most certainly still love him.
I think I’ve been labeled a head case most of my life. Which makes sense because I’ve even worried about being worried, and that’s very easy to do when you’re stuck in your own head and you just. feel. so. damn. much.
The people in my life have often downplayed my symptoms or told me to quiet my ‘hysteria’ over my various ‘issues’. I’ve been told it’s all in my head.
I know it’s much easier to believe that God takes care of everyone and rights all wrongs and heals all the sick and that there’s a purpose behind everything that happens. It helps us make sense of our earthly hardships or situations. When Jimmy was life flighted to Nationwide, that’s exactly what everyone wanted me to believe.
epilogue: I originally wrote this early in 2020. It’s been a tough one to share because ultimately I don’t ever want the folks who’ve helped me ‘escape’ motherhood from time-to-time to feel like I am ungrateful for all of their help. That’s the exact opposite of why I wrote this.
- 6 min
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2 years
- 891 words
Tagged anniversary, lucky, lucky 13th, purpose, thirteenth