Two years ago today, I watched my little Lilly Grace die in my bathroom floor. I have a hard time believing it has really been that long. Sometimes I feel like the amount of time that has passed is more unbelievable than the fact that my child is no longer here. Where does all that time go?
I'll be turning 26 in a couple weeks. It's yet another year that you won't be here to celebrate with me. The last time I saw you, you had just turned 26. (And just so you know, I still want to punch you in the face, birthday boy.) That was 5 years ago.
I've been thinking about the last 5 years a lot lately. I look at pictures from that last summer with you, and I can't believe how much has changed. I miss that fiesty country girl that lived and loved with reckless abandon. I miss that loud obnoxious laugh and that huge smile. I try to find her in the mirror, but I only catch glimpses on rare occasion.
|Random pictures of the girl I used to be.|
When we talked about where this adventure might take me, I never dreamed life would be like this. I never imagined you would be gone. I never imagined myself being married...and especially not being divorced. I definitely never saw babies in the picture. I thought I was giving my gypsy heart room to run. Not getting ready to see it shatter to a million pieces.
I guess when we set our sights on the future, none of us ever account for falling short or changing directions or just flat out failure. It makes the adventure less inviting.
I hate that word, but I have been feeling it a lot the last 5 years. I don't remember ever feeling like such a failure as I did when I signed my divorce papers. And then I lost Lilly. And then I lost Brake. And then I fought hard, but I lost my motivation at work. I guess work is a little more than lost motivation. I loved the Navy and all the adventures I've seen so far, and I was looking forward to several more. But I lost respect for the people I worked for, I had a nervous breakdown on the flight line, and I gave up. I didn't have it left in me to keep fighting and trying so hard when my best was never enough. My failure was thrown in my face, drilled into my head, over and over again by people who didn't understand.
Failure should be my name. Or at least that's how it feels sometimes.
I've done a lot of thinking and soul searching these past couple weeks on bed rest. (Probably more thinking than is actually good for me.) I'm really anxious for this little one to get here. And terrified of what comes after his arrival. But more than anything, I'm realizing how truly unhappy I am. I'm realizing all the things that I have tried to push aside or bury instead of facing them. Deep under layers upon layers of time, dust, pain, and foolish pride.
The big things are always there, lurking in the shadows. It's the little things that are getting me. Little things that have been pushed aside so long they've become bigger things. Most of them seem to be centered around my relationship with Bryan. And my lack of close friends in this area. At first I thought it was just the hormones and stress of bed rest, but I really think it's a lot deeper than that. His negativity. His mean jokes. His I'm a man so I'm better than you in every way attitude. His entire day video game marathons.
I know that we are both different people than we were when we first started dating. Change is to be expected, especially with all that we've been through. But I think we have become too different. I can honestly say if I had met this guy that he is now, we probably wouldn't have even been friends, much less dated. I'm losing sight of what brought us together because I'm not seeing or feeling it anymore. I love him. I really do. And I try to keep reminding myself that it will get better. But he is angry and blames the entire world for the bad things that have happened to him, and I know in my heart that nothing will get better until he deals with that.
I hate this. Part of me feels like I should have seen it coming and that I should just get out while I can. The other part of me can't stand the thought of giving up...or of taking the little one away from his daddy.
I don't know what to do, Andy.
I want to make things better. For me. For him. For us. For our little one. I want to believe that things can and will get better. I want to believe in those love stories I grew up hearing from the old folks. I want to believe that I can have one of those too.
More than anything, I just want to be happy again. Whatever it takes. I just want to be happy.
I miss you.