I pace through the house, hugging my sweet Rora tight.  Tears streaming down my cheeks, my lips pursed affording no sound to come out.  My throat makes a gulping noise as I suppress the violent sobs that shake me, threatening to come out.  I hug her closer to my chest, my head pulsing, trying to just ground myself.  Trying to see the good.  The light.  Because, my girls…they are my little beacons of light.

I feel like I’m drowning on dry land, my feet refuse to stand still as they walk across the cold, hard tile and I want to scream at the top of my lungs to my God, “ARE YOU SERIOUS?  HELP ME OUT, HERE, DUDE!  I CAN’T DO THIS ALONE AND I’M REALLY FEELING ALONE.  I’M FEELING BEATEN.  WEARY.  LIKE I’VE ALREADY LOST.  LIKE MAYBE…JUST MAYBE, I SHOULD CALL IT A DAY.  GIVE UP.”  But, I wouldn’t dare unclench my mouth, afraid of the emotion and uncontrollable and unrecognizable sound that may come out.  So, I pace.

“Mommy sad?” Lala looks up at me, her eyes searching mine.  “Yeh, baby.  Mommy’s sad.  It’s going to be okay,” I say.  And, I feel almost guilty for promising something that I don’t know I can keep.

As hard as I try, I can’t seem to wrestle through the tangle of issues we’re looking through.  I’ve found silver-linings in everything and chalked the rest to JUST BEING LIFE.  But, now I’m finding myself suddenly paralyzed and drowning.  Occasionally, I see a sparkle, hope of a surface…but then I realize it was just a bubble and I’m still alone at the bottom of the sea.

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