Some days I just want to survive. To make it through the next few seconds without completely falling to pieces. I focus on the getting through each second because minutes seem to be to long. All that matters is survival. I don’t care about anything. Just breathe. In and out. Don’t panic. Ok panic but don’t pass out. If I can just hang in there it will be ok. Eventually.
Usually I have one good day then at least three horrible days to make up for it. The guilt of being happy, of being ok gets to me at times. I know she would want me to be happy that she likes it when I smile. But it’s just so hard. It’s hard to not feel like I’m dishonoring her by not believing. Knowing and believing are two completely different things.
Other days I want to LIVE I want to live extra for her. I want to laugh more, love more, and not spend my days sad. I want to get off my couch and do things. Play with my kids that are alive and not only grieve the one that is not. It’s hard, I’m terrified every minute that something will happen to them. That they will die too. That once again I’ll have to hand my child back. That they will join her on my shelf.
I never realized how hard it would be to keep going. To keep living and not just surviving.