A really bad year

Well, a whole year later I’m going to try to write again.  It was a difficult year. Understatement.  More than a year. My son died in the fall of 2011.

That’s really all.  If you’ve lost a child you know.  If you haven’t, you can’t know.  The bleeding has stopped.  I’ve learned to keep going with part of me missing, but it’s so hard.  I cry.  A lot.  No one knows, because I don’t want to set off my mom, my husband or my other children.  We tried to buy a memorial over Christmas.  I couldn’t.  My boy is gone.

The other things that didn’t go so well, all the new and pointless requirements, the oversize classes, the kids that are hard to love…well, they’re that much harder to take.  So I push through.  Slogging through grading.  Slogging through classes.  Pretending all the time.  Hoping that the pleasant tone and smile I paste on will somehow percolate inside.  They do sometimes.  More frequently now.

Will this ever go away?  No.  I know that.  I can’t get my boy back.  But I know it’s getting better.  I have faith it will get better.  Besides, there’s no choice.  I have to keep slogging on.  “You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.”  Well, this is my fit.  Thanks for reading.

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