i cut my hair

It wasn’t momentous or special. But it was freeing. I knew the day would come when my bones would itch for a change and I’d want to shed whatever I could. I feel so much more myself and in an instant I can’t imagine why I ever grew my hair that long to begin with; the same way I always feel when I cut a significant amount of hair. 

You’re not here to reassure me that I’m on the wrong track, so my mind keeps spinning. I wonder if I don’t feel you around me because I’m doing something wrong. Your only unsavory characteristic to me was your ability to stonewall when you didn’t want to talk, and I wonder if that’s what you’re doing to me in death. What if you’re punishing me? What if I never deserved you and I took you for granted and you’re watching me from wherever you are now, thinking “why is she so heartbroken? She never cared when I was alive” or “yeah of course you appreciate me now that you have to do it all.” 

I hope hope hope that’s not how this all works. But what if it is? We assume with death comes acceptance and peace, but what if instead you’re floating around angry you wasted your life on me? What if death gave you clarity about everything you should’ve done with your life and I was never supposed to be part of it? 

The truth is that I can’t torture myself with the what ifs. The truth is that no matter what I tell myself about how you feel, I’ll never know, and all I’ll ever have is what I choose to believe about it. So I can choose that you regret your life with me, which causes me great pain to think about, or I can believe that when you died you felt loved and loved me deeply, which makes me feel happy and peaceful. Since the choice is up to me, the stories I choose to tell myself are the ones that bring me comfort. 

Maybe it’s the spring awakening, or the antidepressants, or the baby finally having moments of happiness and content, but I do feel happier lately. Maybe it’s just the contrast after a full week+ of all of us having the stomach bug (over my birthday), then Axl being on spring break (so a week with my hands extra full), but this week things feel calmer and more manageable. My heart still aches. I miss you so much. 

I’d give anything for a shred of proof that you’re still out there loving us. I wouldn’t even care if it was a bogus psychic medium lying to me for money, I’d hold onto that “proof” with both hands and treasure it for life. All I have is the blinking kitchen light and the incessant snow, both probably just stories I tell myself to get through the day. 

I feel so blessed to have these boys. I feel like I’ve been climbing an emotional mountain with both of them on my back. I am carrying them the best I can. And you know what? Overall I am so proud of how I have handled the last 3… 6… 9… honestly full year of my life. Actually, I’m proud of the last few years. But especially the work I have done as a mother since you died. I have been strong and vulnerable and nurturing and open and calm. I haven’t been perfect. I am sometimes a mess. But I have given them my best every single moment. 

I am so relieved to have turned a corner with Ford. Carrying him and then getting him through his first 6 months is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I was struggling with that before I became a single mother and lost you traumatically. But things have finally improved and we’re finding a groove and I have been able to exhale a bit. I just wish you were here to see it.