i do what i can, but it never feels like enough

Some nights I just can’t sleep. My mind is replaying “the day” and racing with other thoughts. Tonight I got up at midnight to eat the dinner I forgot to eat and took a very mild sleeping pill and a hit of weed. The baby will be up before 6. I have a work meeting and Axl needs to stay home from school again so I can get another negative Covid test in. His IEP evaluation is Wednesday… I could go on and on but I’m trying to fall asleep, not jazz myself up with yet another to do list. 

I never had problems sleeping when you were alive. Even with your snoring. I went to sleep each night peaceful and happy and comfortable. Safe and protected. Now I lie half awake all night like a mama lion alone watching for predators. I used to be able to rest my problems on your shoulders when they got too heavy for me to handle. You shared the weight of anything that came to us. And now it’s just me. Leader of the pack. It’s like I’ve had to become a whole other species. 

All I can do is focus on the positives and look ahead for what’s waiting for us. But this all happened so quickly that my brain and body haven’t caught up quite yet to all that has transpired. There is a lot of good ahead but I’m still so in love with what’s behind. I miss my old life so much. Having to forge a new one is… intense. Rebuilding an entire childhood for your kids and having a complete change in their influences, helping them melt into a brand new life… suddenly alone to raise them… I’m lucky to have a village around me because I just… can’t. Everyone says I’m strong and they all commend me on doing this, but it just feels like autopilot. Like I’m not even here some days, just watching it all from above and going through the motions of what a good, strong mother would do. It’s like one big charade. It’s not like I’m sobbing on the kitchen floor in my quiet moments (thank you, Zoloft) but I am always just sort of staring off into the distance and daydreaming about our life together. I cram my senses with noise at all times and I keep busy because it all just still feels entirely made up, still like a bad dream. My days are still filled with endless tasks that are meant to finalize that you’re never coming back. It’s all dragged out, always something else to do. I’ve gotten advice from everywhere, but there’s no one to DO this stuff for me. I have help with so much, but there is so much emotional labor and so many menial tasks that only I can do and it never ends. 

Everyone else grieving him gets to sort of collect themselves and move on, but I don’t want to. I’m still his wife and these are still his kids and he was our whole life and now he’s gone. He was a son and a good friend and valued coworker and beloved neighbor and uncle but he was my world. A world that completely imploded without warning. I’m going to be floating aimlessly in space for awhile and I wish people would just let me do that a bit instead of asking whether I’ve called social security or if I’m going to sell my house. Trust me, I feel the money leaking out of my account as I scramble to work more hours amidst all the necessary tasks and being home alone with 2 kids. I hate paying on a house I can’t be in, knowing I can’t move forward with finding us a real home until I do sell the house. 

I worry you’re somewhere thinking “this is what she always wanted” bitterly, but all the times I thought you would react with disdain you reacted with love. I choose to believe you’re thinking that in a loving way, happy that if I have to be without you, I might as well get a chance at building my next version of a dream life. I’ve said it a ton and I’ll say it forever though, I would trade it all back for my life with you in a heartbeat. Nothing that ever comes down the line will have been worth losing you for.