Every single thing is hard.
I cried seven times at parent teacher conferences last night and my kids are good. They’re getting As and Bs and behaving well. I just had to make sure the teachers knew to watch for hard days and that they knew our plan for if the kids have one. I cried seven times. One teacher asked me why I was crying (in a gentle way) and all I could choke out was, “I’m not supposed to be here alone.”
Right now I’m hiding in the bathroom at Cracker Barrell because even being in a restaurant is hard. Vance and I ate at a lot of these early on. He loved dumplings and biscuits and all things southern comfort food. It just feels wrong to be here without him.
They have all these rocking chairs out front. We used to sit in them sometimes, just rocking and waiting. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I always thought that we’d have a couple of those on our front porch when we were old. That we’d sit side-by-side, my hair gray and his hair gone, with our glasses and hearing aids and hold hands while we watched the birds and the squirrels and the grandkids run around the yard. Maybe even the great-grandkids if we were lucky.
Rocking for two sounds lovely. Rocking for one just sounds lonely.