There’s not a maximum amount of shit that G-d bestows. It’s not like the median amount of shit is two earth shattering disasters and then you are covered. My grandpa lost his whole family – parents, brother and sister, all separately at a very young age. No one up above said that he’d met his quota so no more disasters will come his way. Hell, look at the people who suffered so much in the Holocaust.
I’m sitting here listening to the wind cry out, the thunder roar, and I’m waiting ever so patiently (or not) for my husband to come home. To help relieve the burden I bare. To come share the pride I have. To be the partner I vowed to have.
I can’t help but feel desperate. Desperate that I want to keep everyone I love healthy, safe and happy. Desperate that I am so vulnerable – a stay at home mom with three young children. Desperate that my entire well-being rests on this one person. Not just for the financial implications but he is my mental health.
My life hasn’t been easy. I know what tragedy looks like. Because of that intense sadness I store in the back of my figurative drawer in the back corner of my closet, I’m constantly haunted. Haunted with fears of loved ones being ripped from my life prematurely. I’m not sure I can ever come to terms with it.
I will never, no matter what, regret that I have made the life, created the loves, that I have. But there will not be a moment of a day that I will not be haunted by the feelings of losing it all. Nights like these remind me of how fragile everything really is. I hope that Adam comes home safely tonight and every night to follow.