The truth is,

as I said yesterday, the days are still hard.
I go to sleep very early every night in order to try to feel rested and to give my brain time to heal.
But I dread it. I dread going to sleep because then it will be tomorrow, and tomorrow means my husband leaves and tomorrow means I’m not in bed, under my cozy covers, watching “Grey’s Anatomy”, with no one to take care of, distracted and calm.
Tomorrow, the anxiety can creep in.
But then sometimes, in those tomorrows, I get reminders of why each day matters.
Like today, my daughter reached for my hand and said, “Mom, it’s your favorite part of the day.”
Today, my mom spontaneously dropped of a bag of warm scones to my door.
Today, my baby maneuvered his way all across the living room, and made me feel so proud.
So this is what I was scared of.
And it’s not easy, but it’s not so bad, after all.

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