Today is March 1st. It’s been March 1st all day now. Actually, we’re less than 2 hours from March 2nd.
For the past week and a half, every single time I’ve looked at my phone, it hasn’t been to check the time. It’s been to check the date.
As if every moment I checked was another moment closer to March. Which is really just another moment closer to April. Which…is another second, another moment, closer to my birth son’s birthday.
He’ll be 10 this year.
My son will be 10. On April 4th. Less than 5 weeks from now, my oldest son will celebrate his 10th birthday without me.
Arguably, one that was…hinted? Said? Mentioned? Whatever word you want to insert…this year should have been more. I should have okayed a larger part.
It’s March now.
Fuck March.
And fuck what it means.
I’m dealing with it alone because it isn’t something the people in my life really…know how, or want to, deal with.
It is what it is.
Grief sucks.
It shouldn’t be dealt with alone.
But here we are
It’s March now.
And I imply do not love this.
I miss him.
It will get worse.
And I wish how I felt could be understood by…just about anyone else in my life.
I can’t go through these next few weeks alone.
I won’t survive it.
I’m already feeling it harder than I wish I was.