Life is full of days, one after the other. If I don't write a do-to list, I do nothing.
So I write one and get what I have to get done, done.
And then Robbie got a weird mystery rash, so today went south, with a dr. appt, which resulted in the official verdict of "That looks weird." I kid you not. Those were the first words out of my son's doctor's mouth.
I already knew that.
So tomorrow we head to the dermatologist to see if he knows what it is. We're fairly sure what it's not (everything I already knew about, plus the zillions of rashes I looked at via google yesterday). Note: Do NOT look at skin rashes via google. Not a good idea.
I'd describe the rash but then you'd go google skin rashes, and what did I just say? Not a good idea.
And here I am acting like someone is reading this - all tens of you. I'm sorry it's not more exciting. I'm kind of in a low right now. You know... there's a lot going on, and I'm mourning, and my kid has a "that looks weird" rash.
And I'm tired of being sad. Too bad that won't stop me from being sad.
I had a dream where I was with my mom and we were laughing, and I could hear her voice and see her face lighting up, and then I remembered that she is dead.
And even as I said it in my dream, I was telling myself to SHUT UP and not tell her, because when I have dreams like that (and I have had this same type of dream, where I get to see and hear someone I loved so much who is gone now and it's actually wonderful because you know what - those memories are stored in my brain somewhere but I can't always access them, but in my dreams, there's my loved one...), where was I? Oh, yes, when I have dreams like that and I tell him/her that he/she is dead... they stop talking. They stop interacting. It's kind of creepy for a second. And then the dream moves on to something else.
And I didn't want it to go somewhere else. I wanted to stay there and listen to my mommy. Because I miss her so much. So very much.
Anyway, I want to go to sleep now and dream about my mom like that. Just see her talking about her day, or that smile when she sees her grandchildren, or anything.
Don't tell me I'll see her in heaven. I know that.
Don't tell me that it will get easier. Not unless you've really been here. And even then, did that really help all that much? And yes, I know it will get easier.
But not yet.
Right now, I just want one more day.