Here it is again. The start of the Facebook memory season on our journey with Cole. It could start earlier, with our pregnancy announcement, but this is when it starts to get hard. The day I was admitted to hospital. Also, the first day someone told us he would die.
I’m worried, this year. My husband is already severely depressed. He’s always worse when the memories start rolling in. I don’t know what worse can look like right now. That scares me.
I haven’t had time to spend with my feelings in a while. I’ve been in “stay strong” mode. “Keep busy” mode. “Hold it all together” mode. I feel an obligation to have a functional, reliable parent in the house for Cole’s Sib. Work is difficult and she’s not sleeping and I feel like I can’t risk cracks without the whole thing crumbling.
And I’ve been writing for a while without posting. Needing some separation between when I feel something and sharing it. Needing to save my feelings and look back over them later. Feeling like I might be whining. Feeling like I might be overreacting. Feeling like I might be offending. Feeling like I don’t trust my feelings.
Old posts may start to appear. Or they may not. But I feel like I’m at the point of change.