Today is one of those days.
I didn’t know it when I woke up, but it didn’t take long.
This morning, I got ready, ate breakfast, helped Jake get the baby ready to take him to the doctor since he’s got yet another ear infection. Pretty normal kind of day.
Mira wasn’t, particularly on my mind.
Yet, it’s one of those days.
It’s a feeling of exhaustion. I got to work, got my lesson together and everything ready for my students, and I sat there, just so tired. I read a Facebook post. A mom worried about her son’s health. A blog on how nurses care not only for patients, but grieving families too. Maybe those were the triggers, but it was already right under the surface. I think I felt it as I fed my sweet boy this morning before I left for work, rocking him as he held my hand. I remembered the way she held my hand while laying in that hospital bed during those last days. I sat still at my desk, just sitting there. I needed to go help another teacher in the gym. I needed to finish grading those assignments from yesterday. But I couldn’t.
I just sat there, while my eyes leaked small, quiet tears, missing her.
It’s been 17 months since she died.
Some of those days have been easier than others. Today is an arbitrarily hard day.
In those 17 months, I have grieved, healed, grieved more. I have found that grief is constant, evolving, awkward, empowering, debilitating, and impossible to define because even day to day, it doesn’t look or behave the same way.
Some days, grief is a shiny, bubbly scar. Other days, it’s a gaping, bleeding wound. I guess emotional trauma doesn’t heal in the same linear progression as physical trauma.
So today, I will be tired. I’ll be a little more distant and less talkative. My thoughts will be on her, remembering her hands and her face and her sounds. Aching for her, missing her, thanking God for her, will be my focus. Today will be a Mira Day.
I’ve been a little quiet on the blog because having a ten month old and a 14 year old is exhausting, and the few moments I get to write are usually spent writing for paid/public sites because having a ten month old and a 14 year old is also expensive. But I have half a dozen blogs half written on my computer. I hope I’ll get better at what the mama-bloggers call micros – short but powerful blogs that are quicker to write (and for others to read). Maybe one day. Not on a Mira Day.
At a certain point, sometimes you just stop striving to please everyone (and maybe most importantly, yourself…) and you just start doing life the best you can.
Today, I won’t be rockstar teacher. The lessons are planned. The kids are writing, reading, working, and learning. But I won’t create an incredibly engaging educational experience worthy of TpT or NCBT. I can’t. I’m grieving today.
Today, I won’t send texts to friends, socialize with coworkers, or put myself out there as bubbly, friendly, and warm. I can’t because I’m grieving today.
Today, I won’t hold myself to my own expectations. I won’t expect a gorgeous dinner worthy of Instagram. I won’t craft a blog for the shares or traffic. I’ll cook to just to eat and write just to live. I can’t do more than that because I’m grieving today.
Grief is hard enough, especially on a Mira Day