Saturday, May 19, 2018


I got up early this Saturday morning. I felt the need to go to the cemetery. The sun was shining and there was a beautiful breeze blowing. I took the truck. I sat in it and sobbed. I wrote in my journal the following:

I miss you! It's not fair that I'm sitting in your truck without you. It's not fair that you're not here to complain that the yard hasn't been dealt with yet or to help Michael with the bathroom. It's not right to be up on a Saturday morning sitting in the cemetery sobbing. I hate being alone. I hate being lonely. I hate goodbyes. I hate missing you. I hate being a single mom. I hate making decisions. I hate not hearing your voice. I hate not being able to get a hug on a bad day. I hate not having your touch. I hate going to things without you. I hate being at church without you by my side. I hate receiving honors in your place. I hate seeing the boys and your family hurts so much. I hate being strong. I hate sitting in your truck alone. I hate this whole situation. I hate not growing old with you. I hate myself and struggle to forgive. I hate that I'm still on earth and you are in heaven.

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