The Brutal Year

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I’m cleaning things up around the blog. Tightrope walking between writing more or hanging up the gone for good sign. I can’t decide. Then I start reading what I’ve written and it makes me smile enough to myself, I remember its place in my heart. Anyhow, this post has been sitting in drafts for a very long time. I had to read it several times to remember what that news was that broke me and who was the friend. But I remember it well now. ps. I started reading this and thought perhaps I’d written it at the end of 2018 but it’s from 2014. 2014. Every year since my divorce has had its brutal seasons. I’m still waiting for a year that’s a bit kinder. 2019, you listening?

A few weeks ago, I got some hard news. I’d been anticipating it but that did nothing to soften the blow. A friend I was with could see I was a bit fragile; she volunteered to join me for a therapeutic drive around the block. She listened as I talked through tears and shared some wise words. She finally had to return to work and as she jumped onto the sidewalk. She ducked down and looked at the teary mess behind the steering wheel, “Sure you’re okay to drive?”

I smiled through tears, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve gotten really good at driving and crying this year.” We burst into laughter.

But that’s the year I’ve had.

A big part of me wants to take a shovel to 2014; bury it good and deep. But I won’t because I want to remember what I survived.

-I got divorced. (this one alone should count as several bullet points on this list)
-I got into a car accident.
-I lost my job.
-My grandfather, my rock, and breath, was hospitalized twice.
-Farrah’s asthma kicked our butts landing us in the ER garnering us an overnight hospital stay.
-I’ve been broker than broke.
-I had to break all our hearts and give our pup, Luella, back to the breeder.
-I had to move us for the 2nd time in a year.

I’m certain there are things missing.

Dear 2014,

You’re the year I didn’t know I could have. But you can’t keep me down, motherfucker.

Helloooo 2015,

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