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Oct 27

All is well

This is where I’m supposed to be now.

We’re back to a state of equilibrium.   I used to think that we were too lucky – that things were so easy.  Not that they were easy, because they weren’t.  The kids fought and argued, I worried about them.  We never really had enough money, the laundry was never done, and I was always sick of doing dishes.

But Marc and I loved each other, and the kids were all doing well.   We never really had a lot of money, but we could afford what we needed.  Then the accident happened.

Actually, it started the fall before, when Sam started developing the abdominal issues.  The whole fall was constant doctor’s visits and blood work and stool samples.  And then we spiraled into massive anxiety and school refusal.  It was a whirlwind of psychiatric visits and endless calls to and from the school adjustment counsellor.

We had just pulled the plug on that – had literally filed the paperwork that day to start homeschooling.  Then the accident happened.  And it was June before our world started to settle.  July before things started to resemble our life before the accident.

It was a time dividing year.  Life is either before the accident or after.  We emerged from it scarred in more ways than one.  Literal, physical scars – Sam will forever wear a reminder of that day on his chin.  And his vision will never be the same.  We got a dog.  My husband is a lot older than he was at this time last year, he’s worn down and anxious.  I almost think that he was impacted more than anyone else in a lot of ways.  So much of the burden lays on him.  We divide what we’re responsible for, I handle the referrals, the doctors visits.  The grades and the teacher conferences.  The playdates and the pick ups,  the moods and the medicine.

Marc manages things differently.  I’m emotional, I’m going to yell at the kids when I need a break, and cry when it’s too hard.  Because sometimes it still is.  Sometimes the enormity of all that he lost, all that we lost, on that day he slammed into the car, it’s too much.  The worry is overwhelming, the demands of homeschooling, the question of what to study and how, when he can’t see the words on the paper.   But I process it, somehow, and move on.  Marc compartmentalizes it all – and ignores it entirely until it’s too much and then feels all the feels at once.  Not unlike the way that Sam manages to handle it.  He just makes it okay – until it isn’t.  Until it hits him that he’s lost so much of his life, his daily life, his legos, his coloring, his bike.  Pizza.  Then he falls apart and feels all the feels.  Until it’s done, and he packages it all back up and goes on.

The girls are impacted too – I think they’ve grown and matured a little.  I also think they’ve gotten a little sadder, a little less innocent about the dangers of life.  I try to make sure that they still have my attention and my focus.  My patience, even though that seems to be forever lacking.

This is where I’m supposed to be.  It’s not easy, but it’s so much easier than it was.

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