I Meant to Write Something

but I didn't.

I survived the last few days. They were hard. We received his death certificate in the mail on Friday. Strange. Mothers Day ways OK. Bittersweet. I was asked at church by someone who doesn't know me how many children I had. Without hesitation, I said, "Two." Then I felt guilty about it. But to explain I only have two living would be much harder to say and she probably didn't care to hear about it anyhow. Then the last few days I have just felt awful and heavy tired and sore. And hurt. I fell down the stairs twice in less than a week. It is the third time living in this house. Gah, I didn't know how much more I could take.

So I didn't write. I am now, but it feels only half-hearted. I am feeling better but sometimes I am just surviving and that is all I can do. I think sometimes of a quote from a movie. "I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?" And that is it. I gotta keep breathing and living. It's OK. I don't know what the future will bring, but I hope it includes happiness and healing. But for now, I am just surviving.