You don’t really have any type of warning on the morning your life changes, when the whole thing catches on fire. There are sometimes small warnings randomly scattered around. Sometimes you know it’s possible, or it’s coming. But the day it’s actually set to explode, most of the time it is a very regular morning. Boring even. You don’t wake up thinking this will be the last breakfast you can eat without your stomach caving in on itself for a while. You don’t fix your hair and pick out clothes most suitable to start the mourning process. It’s just like every other day. Your heart is somewhere flitting about, minding it’s business, gushing about something or someone.
And then you’re left to rush around like a mad person scooping up bits and pieces of your life so you can rebuild it. Feeling as if you’re in a tornado holding desperately onto a pole with one hand while frantically trying to catch confetti with the other. It’s impossible. It’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. And when it’t the world of your child who goes up in flames, it’s even more so. To watch your child be devastated. Heart ripped open and bleeding out. Kicked repeatedly. and know your hands are tied. You can add terrifying and gut wrenching to the list.
There are moments, no matter how much you try, you just cannot prepare for. They are impossible to digest, no matter how much sugar you coat them with. They are wounds that weep. regardless of the amount of pressure applied.