Oh how my days are different these days.
I’ve always been a bit of a night owl, but nowadays, the nighttime is my own personal retreat. When the whole house is asleep, alarm on, and my darkened room is lit with the glow of my overworked MacBook, I can finally breathe. Reflect. Write. Numb out. It is my respite of quiet. Of solace.
Over the past five weeks since my mom’s stroke, I have definitely walked through a lot of emotions.
They say that there are five stages of grief, but I don’t think I’ve even ever allowed myself to “go there” and entertain that mindset of “grief,” because I have nothing to grieve. I believe that my mom is going to get better. Period. I am clinging to that hope. I am demanding that of God.
But tonight was the first night where I just…
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