Thursday, January 16, 2014

Hater.

It would seem I only have the desire to blog when I am Ms. Melancholy. I have finally figured out I hate January.  The whole month.  I don't use the word hate often.  But I am pretty sure I mean it.  Maybe strongly dislike.  It's funny that I feel guilty typing that word...as if I could hurt January's feelings.  I decided to figure out the root of the feelings instead of sleep.  Well, my mind decided for me.
I try to think of January as a fresh start.  Everyone is always, "What are your New Year's resolutions?"  It's kind of like saying, "Hey! What are you planning to fail to do/not do?"  That seems like such a Negative Nancy view.  I just laughed at myself. I just yearn for real change.  Not because a ball dropped but because I am tired of dropping the ball.
January is a little salt into the wounds caused by time that refuses to slow the efffff down.  My babes are growing.  Charlee is a small human.  On the way to church I asked Bran if I looked ok.  He replied yes and she piped up from the back, "You do, indeed."  Seriously?  What three year old uses INDEED??  The boys might as well be dating with all their smiling and drooling at all females while said ladies grin from ear to ear.
The heat generating from my cheeks is that thing I don't want to talk about (ohhhhhh but I will).  That dread that comes with January.  The day is coming where reality rips at the scar on my heart.  When someone is talking about a birthday and they say, "Well, it's better than the alternative"... I feel the familiar catch in my throat. The alternative I must face.  There is no one to call on the 29th.  It's not a happy birthday song in my heart.  It's a day I feel completely ok feeling sorry for myself. It's the day I miss my favorite man in the universe the absolute most.
The other night I had a dream that I was dying and had to inform Bran about everything I did with the kids so he could do it all when I died (for a sob fest you can see this as a movie called My Life).  I woke up and felt sorrow to the core of my bones.  So maybe my dad didn't need to tell my mom how I liked to be held...but what's worse...he couldn't tell her.  Our hearts.  Our souls.  They had to say their own goodbyes.  What we shared could never be recreated.  He just had to trust my mom would do what she does best.  She would have to hold it all together.
I think what makes that knot in my throat appear is the thought of him not seeing me as a mom.  I finally found something I love and feel confident in(well...most days).  The love that gushes from my heart could only be multiplied by him.  Charlee would be his best friend. The boys would instinctively reach for him. I remember hearing stories about his mom and dreaming of knowing her. I would yearn to know her and for her to know me.  I would be lying if I said I didn't cry wondering if Charlee will feel the same way about him.