I’ve finally broken down and cried. I could weep for an hour if I had the time.
My kids are happy, laughing, playing. Safe. Supper is nearly ready. Mike is nearly home.
But he’s worked seven days in a row and he will still have to work for the next four at least.
My grandma is dying. Admitting that hurts. I want to have hope and believe that she’ll live ten more years, but things are not good. And while I have distanced myself from my grandparents by having my own children, I still remember when my grandparents ranked pretty high on my list of important people.
I’m a realist – as they have aged, I have admitted to myself over and over that they don’t have much longer to live. I’ve thought about how I’ll cry over them but move on.
I think it’s still true, but it’s not going to be quite that easy. Especially when I am waiting like this, expecting bad news every day.
I’m so incredibly weary. There is no other word for it. How do military wives do it? How do they live through their husbands being gone for months, years even? How do they manage to parent children who hardly know their own fathers? I feel so weak – if this is hard, I certainly couldn’t manage what they do.
At this point, I’m not sure when I’ll ever be past this. I know it sounds pessimistic, but it’s just how I feel.