I didn’t sleep well last night.
I am so exhausted.
Neither did my little one.
There is no denying the connection she and I have.
I swear the nights I am fitful, so is she.
I won’t deny I am grateful to not be alone in those moments.
Awake and tossing, we finally settle back to sleep after maybe an hour while holding hands across the space between our beds.
I didn’t want to get up this morning, I wanted so badly to keep sleeping but once I was awake, I couldn’t get comfortable again. After my husband got up, there was no going back.
We’ve been sitting with our coffee, sharing our stress levels, trying hard to just accept what is happening in our lives and move through it as best we can. We called his mom to check in on her as she awaits her COVID results, she seems well which was relieving.
In the 11 years I have been with my husband, I have never seen him so vocal about anxiety. This morning he told me about how in his youth he always had a “f**k it” attitude but he realized as we get older, as we invest in life – we can’t help but give a f**k.
It just feels like everything we trusted to be solid and secure in our lives has literally crumbled from beneath us over the last four months.
And it doesn’t help that today is the funeral.
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