just another one.

I want to be able to tell you i am ok everyday, but I am not.

I still struggle some days, and I still feel weak others.

It is days like tomorrow that I find it hard to deal with.

It's mothers day, and I am a mother that will have her daughter with me all day long.

I am grateful.

Beyond grateful that I will be able to spend the entire day with my best girl.

Beyond grateful that I have friends and family, that will call not because they feel sorry for me, but because they love me.

But days like this are a constant reminder of this life that was meant for three, now being lived by two.

I feel a tremendous amount of guilt even mentioning something so seemingly trivial.

My brain tells me to push this out....

My heart reminds me just how alone you can feel.

Even when your not.

Not her. Me.

As I lay in bed tonight I hear the same music coming from her room that I have played for her every night since she was born.

It tones down the sharpness of the dogs bark and makes the sound of the washing machine fade away in the distance.... but mostly it is a familiar sound that both of us like to hear at night.

Being here has settled us both. We are calmer versions of who we were a few months ago, very quickly we have gotten use to this new routine.

I am back to work four days a week, and she is with her sitter and my mum for those days.

She has come leaps and bounds since day one.... now going with out much fuss, and enjoying her time while she is there.

I have not.

I miss her.

I miss her so much every day that it is painful.

I cry most days at some point, when I look at the time and wonder what she might be doing, or when I think of the way she ate her breakfast like a big girl in the morning.

Mostly I just wish it was me that could take her to the park or open her raisin box.

Mostly I am resenting the person that took that away from me.

I understand the bottom line well.

This is what happens; this is what has to be done; this is the sacrifice that I have to make;

But I miss her.

My god do I miss her.

I have been blessed with an amazing boss, and a great work environment.

They are BEYOND accommodating to my situation, and they are 100% on board with my "apple comes first" attitude.

I have also been blessed with the most amazing parents.

They pick up the slack and more on a daily basis.

Not a single day goes by when I don't regret being an asshole to them when I was a teenager. (and maybe early 20's... ok and maybe my late 20's early 30's.... come to think of it I was probably an asshole baby too)

So, I get it.

We all have to do this, and it sucks..... and not many people are as blessed as I am.

I will get through this.

I should also probably re think how much of an asshole I can be.

But that's another blog.

A letter to my friend.

I know you are not ok.

The truth is you won't be for awhile.

I know that you are in more pain than you ever thought possible.

The truth is this is the beginning of a very long road.

I know you just want to hit rewind and get it all back.

The truth is there will come a day when you won't want any of it back, you'll just want to move forward.

I know that some days it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to get out of bed.

The truth is you have to, for those two beautiful children of yours.

I know that you are blaming yourself for all of this.

The truth is none of this is your fault... you have always been a dedicated wife and mother who never wanted anything more than the best for her family.

I know that you don't understand.

The truth is you never really will.

I know you think it will never be the same.

The truth is it won't... it will be different, then better.

I know you feel alone.

The truth is we all do, but none of us every really are, there are so many people who want to be here for you, not just through this... but forever.

Most of all I know that you feel lost.

The truth is you are.... but those two children are your map.

You will get through this.

I promise.

Moving recap.

Home.

It's weird to say, but even weirder to feel.

The last day at my old house was painful and full of a profound sadness that I knew had been waiting in the dark shadows of my mind.

I was blindsided by how empty the house looked as the movers took everything out of my house, piece by piece I watched it all leave the house....

easily remembering the days that all of it came in the house.

I was alone.

In our house.

I was alone.

Again.

And then, out of no where I wasn't.

My neighbours who have now become more like family, were there beside me.... just like they always had been.

My last memory of the house on Farmhouse Road will always be of them.

Standing in the garage hugging so tight that I didn't want to let go.

My first memory of my new house will always be of my dad, standing on my driveway waiting for me.

It already felt like home.

Seeing him standing out there felt so familiar, mostly because I never came home on time as a teenager so when he was really pissed he would stand outside on the driveway and wait for me....

The weekend flew by and by the time Sunday came my best girl and I were comfortably living in our new house.

It's more real now for me than ever before.

That I am alright now.

I slept better my first night here then I had slept in years, and when I woke up.... I instantly knew I was home.

We love it here.

This was the best thing we could have done..... It has already started to change things for us.

I feel it slowly but surely, a new normal.. that I adore.

The bittersweet.

It's been too long. Bottom line.

Life gets ahold of you sometimes, and I tell myself I will write tomorrow... then tomorrow turns into next week and next week turns into next month.

But, here I am... living in a half packed house... trying not to go nuts.

The last month has been so overwhelming in so many ways.

The memory's from a life gone by are everywhere I look these days.

As I pack, sort and throw out parts of our life I am constantly reminded of a life created by two, is now being lead by a different set of two.

I have been stand-offish and I have been distant to those closest to me.

I have not been myself... for weeks.

My ability to clearly recall moments of "us" in this house is paralyzing, and I am often left in tears.

No longer because I want my life back, but because of the pain I feel that someone I had loved so much hurt me this badly.

I have come to a very clear understanding that this pain is a part of me and no matter how much time passes I will always shake my head in disbelief that this is what he chose to do to Apple and I.

The more good things that happen to me soften the edges of my heart... my happiness is daily and I am comfortable in my own skin but I believe the process of packing and moving has taken it's toll on me.

In the middle of all this Apple and I got sick.

She was first.

It was fast and violent and with 100% certainty the most frightened I have ever been in my life.

It came on so suddenly and with such force that I was beyond shocked.

I had never seen her like that and pray every night that I will never have to see her like that again.

It was 7 solid hours of getting sick every twenty minutes.

At around 345am as we layed in my bed... she reached out for my hand and held it tightly, she used her other hand to brush her little fingers over my eyes, as if to tell me to shut them.

That it would be ok to sleep for a bit.

When I woke up she was cozied in beside me like she used to when she was a baby, the dog and cat had joined us on the bed at some point after we both fell asleep....

Easily I forgot about the night before and layed there with my family and felt content.

It is nights like that one that I understand more why I am going to be ok.

Because I stayed, for better or worse, in sickness and in health-- I stayed, and I make this life great for us every single day, without him.

But not without help.

My parents were unbelievable through out the entire ordeal... ( I got sick a few days later, and they kept a pretty miserable Apple occupied for the day.)

The weekend also brought some good times that I need to mention.

Some great friends of mine had a party for me on Friday night.... one that I am sure they... or I will not easily forget.

We laughed and we cried....and I made a middle eastern man say the f word.

Not because he was mad at me, but because I pressured him into it.

It was amazing, and exactly what I needed.

I also got a suprise sleepover with one of my besties on Saturday night, so all and all great weekend.

I move in 10 days.

I'll do my best to keep you updated on how we do over this next bit,

but bare with me....

Everytime a bell rings.

A few weeks ago, while in therapy I was asked a very interesting question.... one that I think we should all ask ourselves.

If you had to chose one... and only one which would it be.

To care for... or be taken care of by your partner.

Right there....

I know you think your answer just popped in your head

So did I.

I was wrong.

Let's see if you were too.

At first my gut said "to care for". Because that's me.

That is what I do. I care for those around me.

My therapist stopped me when I tried to answer.

She told me to give it time. Two whole weeks in fact.

So I did.

Until Today.

I kept my feet firmly planted in the "care for" column for about 3 days.

Then I wavered.

I started to think about all of my past relationships and why they never worked.

Mostly I thought about the one I just got out of.

I have "cared for" in every serious relationship I have ever been in.

I don't remember a relationship that I have been in that I have been "taken care of".

I think most of it stems from the fact I have a really hard time giving up the control of what is going on around me.

Most of the time, I know I let myself think that I was being taken care of....

but being taken care of based on what someone else thinks you need is not really being taken care of.

I didn't make my voice heard, I accepted what someone else thought I needed as fact and continued to let myself believe that I getting all I needed.

When really I was just accepting what someone else thought was enough to give.

I need to be taken care of.

Bottom line.

It is difficult and almost shameful for me to admit, but I do.

I am told that the more I say it the less shameful it becomes.

I need to be taken care of... NO, still feels shameful.

Collectively my family and I love the movie "It's a Wonderful Life",

That movie is so full of love, strength, faith and friendship.. that I try to watch it a few times a year, Not just at Christmas.

We called it "looking for your Mary".

Trying to find that one true person that will walk with you through the fire.

George needed his Mary. Just as Mary needed her George.

I need to find my George.

127 includes 2 swears.

I wonder what she dreams about at night.

Sometimes late at night I wake up to her talking to herself.

I roll over and watch her on the video monitor with amazement.

Some nights she will lay there and talk to her self for twenty minutes before she falls back asleep.

I love this.... more than I could ever explain.

With each day more words come.... and so do some of the most profound... yet simple moments of my life.

A few nights ago, when I was tucking her into bed... without being prompted she said "love you mummy" as I was closing her door.

I told her I loved her and ran back in to give her another kiss.

After I shut the door that night, I sat at the top of the stairs and cried.

I honestly never imagined those words having any affect on me ever again.

Because "i love you" had become something that had been so callously said to me.

Just words, with nothing behind them.

But hearing them from her, my beautiful little girl was enough to melt my "cold dead heart".

There is a word that she doesn't say all that often.

Dad.

She still sees him once a week and every other weekend.... but he is just not a subject that comes up when she is with me.

It's odd to me that at two, maybe she knows he is not something I am ready to talk to her about.

I pray for the strength and the restraint when the questions come.

As recently as three weeks ago, he said to me in a heated argument

"you have no clue what it's like-- to be dealing with my life"

He is right.

I don't.

I have no clue what it must be like to not know all 127 words(yes i keep track) that she says off by heart... or that she jumped off the edge of the pool at swimming into my arms last week.

I have no clue what it must be like watch her grow up right before your eyes and not get to be a part of it daily.

So yeah.... I don't have a clue.

Thank god for that.

As I began to pack tonight I was filled with a sense of closure.

This close to last step of the puzzle is finally taking shape.

We are closing in on the last lap in our journey to get back home.

We can't wait.