I’ve been sitting here for days now trying to think of what to write… Of what to put out there just for anyone to read. At first I thought- Oh! I’ll just be whitty and write funnies about my outrageous two year old’s antics. But then I remembered what kind of writer I am.. How I can’t help but display far too much of my soul to be displayed in the black and white of letters and ‘paper’.
So here I am. Here is all that is me, and I’m sorry for the feels. I swear I never intended for this kind of shenanigans.
I’m sitting here listening to Jealous by Labrinth and.. My mind keeps going back to so many things.. It makes me miss my Grampa more than words can explain..
But I guess the one thing I miss most is I can’t come in, sit across from him at the table, and ask “Am I doing this right?” I can’t cry to him and tell him how much it hurts, how lonely I can be, and how terrified I am that I’m making all the wrong decisions with both myself and my son… I have no one to dismiss my mother’s outrageous declarations of me being a messed up mother, and a broken person. No one to tell me to stick to what my heart and God would want.
I’m not jealous that he’s pain free. I’m not jealous that I can’t hug him. I’m not jealous that he’s somewhere happy without me.
I’m jealous of all the people that can go to him and just talk.. I’m jealous that I can’t go to my father to ask for advice.. To tell him about the amazing man that has become so integrated in mine and my boy’s life..
I just want him to look at me and tell me that I’m doing alright… And I know that I can never have that again.