grief, widowhood, healing after loss hey there!
I think since my book came out on this month, the two most common questions or comments I've received are about dating after loss, and the process of writing a book. I'm anxious to write about both of those things (amongst other topics I have in my head) but this, specifically, has been on my mind the last 24 hours....
I reposted something on the gram' yesterday that talked about how often people complain about the monotony of life . The boring routines.
We wake up, brush our teeth, get the kids dressed, make breakfast, think about what to cook for dinner, binge watch a show with popcorn and a foot rub (currently: Sopranos), wash our bodies and crash in bed....just to do it all again.
I thought about this for the entirely of my son's nap yesterday.
I hear, see, and connect with families battling cancer and I empathize with their inability to predict what the next day or the next hour might look like.
I lived that life.
You could be having a great morning yet still find yourself in the ER by lunch time. You could be heading out the door for a dinner date but instead, find your head in the toilet due to chemo-induced nausea.
Having had the most perfectly boring life so abruptly and traumatically interrupted, I am so very aware of how fortunate I am to have some predictability back.
On the same days each week, I park in the same lot and pick my kids up at the same red door of their suburban catholic preschool. And each time, they run over to me with their arms wide open as if it had been much longer than three hours apart.
We get in the car and they ask for the same dang songs every drive. Right now, it’s Poor Unfortunate Souls and Be Prepared because Dante has a thing for villans.
Every night Dante incorporates a couple rounds of rock paper scissors into his bedtime routine. Dom and I say the same exact prayer each night that he learned in school this year. I hit the sound machines and set their clocks to turn green at 7:05am.
I take knee pads and elbow pads on and off fifty times a day.
I fold more tiny undies than I can count.
I make six breakfasts many mornings:
One order of plain waffles, two orders of cheesy eggs and with buttered waffle and blackberries, one order of plain eggs with peanut butter toast and strawberries, an order of two eggs over easy with buttered toast and a smoothie split between three.
Sometimes there's a swim lesson or t-ball practice thrown in there, but it's usually the same stuff, just a different day.
I mean, there's still the complications and the beauties of blending families and co-parenting, and co-parenting with someone who's co-parenting with someone else. There's difficulties in loving someone in heaven and loving someone on earth. It's not always easy. There's almost always chaos.
But most days lately, It's pretty darn routine.
And Lord knows the same old same old is all I've EVER really wanted.
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