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When birthdays bring grief

Today was fine until it wasn’t. We had my sons birthday party today…but tomorrow he turns 3.

I was fine. I did all the things and I tried to keep it together….

And I did.

But then they went to bed. And I still thought I was fine.

But now we’re inching towards midnight, and my grief is nothing less than unbearable.

You’d never think a birthday would bring forth such grief…unless you’re in a position to know exactly just what I mean. In which case…I’m incredibly sorry that you are a part of this same club.

My son turns 3 tomorrow. He’s my best friend in the entire world. He’s my favorite person (but don’t tell the others). I can’t live without him.

But I might have to. His body isn’t meant to be long lasting….even though holy SHIT is his will fierce.

Tonight I picked a fight…probably. It’s Sunday, and I knew I was low on my alcohol of choice last night. I didn’t go to get more because my husband didn’t want to…and I thought I’d have (just) enough.

Normally, it would be. But not tonight.

So I tapped into the last of my emergency stash of my preferred drink. Yes, I have full bottles of other things. But I want none of that. I want this particular familiar and predictable feeling.

Grief is funny. And it’s fucking stupid.

My kid is alive. So like….yay. But I fucking miss him so much already.

Nothing can comfort me but alcohol. Except I know that isn’t true. But then again…nothing feels truer.

I can’t say anything else…the pain is beginning to outweigh the alcohol that I have left. Fucking Sunday.

I’m sorry.

I did my best.

And that’s the only side he will ever, ever see….is me doing my best for him. For both of them.

…for all three of them.

At least that’s worth something huge to me.

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