Journal Feb 11, 2023

I think it comes down to finally giving yourself permission to live. We survive these days. Not because we want to but have no other choice. One day I assume we start living again. I’m not sure how that happens. Maybe one day you finally give yourself permission to accept the unacceptable. You give yourself permission to laugh without judging yourself and your grief. You finally allow yourself to think of the future with optimism and hope. Maybe that one day comes and you carry it then the next day it all is too heavy again and falls apart.

I’ve always said that life is easier when you can manage your expectations. I can’t expect my life to be obliviously filled with joy again. I can’t expect to live life fearlessly again. And I can’t expect to live my life with the presence and love of my son again. BUT that’s what I’m waiting for! I’m still waiting to wake up! To hear his voice in my home. To hear him heckling with his friends online. To hear him harassing his sisters. To hear him walk down the stairs.  To hear him say Thank you momma. Love you momma. To feel the warmth and height of his hugs. To feel his soft cow licked hair. To smell him. To feel him. To love him the way I did before. These are my expectations.

Is that the answer? Does it come down to one day accepting the unacceptable? One day giving myself permission to live what I have left of this life?