…on days like this I miss the Seabee. I hate that he is still in Afghanistan, I hate how things ended, I hate that I will never feel his arms around me as we talked about so many times. I hate that I will never hear his voice again.
I am so tired of grieving. There should be a lifetime maximum that people have to endure when it comes to grief…I know damn well I’ve come close to mine. As I type that I realize just how fortunate I am. I did not lose my eight year old boy after an eight year fight for his life as my friend did. I did not carry my already dead child for a week while I waited for my husband to return from Afghanistan so we could deliver our daughter who had a cord accident at 28 weeks gestation as my friend did. I did not just bury a nearly five month old baby who had been born premature, spent 56 days in the NICU and then came home and died of SIDS as the parents at the funeral I attended last week did…THAT is grief.
…I am tired though. I am feeling completely battered and bruised, and abused.