Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad…




No Good

Very Bad…




It’s me; I am.


That email that got piled on and lost in the line of gmail onslaught that buzzes to my phone, computer, and wrist.

That Facebook message that I know I haven’t responded to yet but the little red alert stares at me each time I reach for my phone.

The space and silence between phone calls, text messages, and get togethers because when the dust settles I just need to feel the quiet or a quick run instead.

Here comes that social event I’m trying to avoid because I just ran out of energy to put that face back on to muscle my way through small talk and meeting new people.

Because I am paralyzed, begging the world to just stop spinning, stop moving, stop doing. My world is frozen but everyone else moves in a graceful dance around me.

When I run out of words to talk about it, describe it, or feel it anymore and all that comes are tears. I just can’t put on the facade today.

I keep getting up with the sun and putting one foot in front of the other. I don’t remember all of the steps but my Fitbit logged them in the fog of the day so I must have carried on.

In the wake of carrying the weight of parenthood, parenthood of a child with special needs, the diagnosis, the blame, the guilt, the balance, the treatment, the full time job, I need you. I need you now probably more than ever. You see it though; you see the heavy shoulders and the sullen face.

I didn’t even ask how you were doing, but please ask me to go walking with you again.

I monopolized the entire conversation, but please ask me to go get coffee again.

I went silent but you keep inviting me; even when the no’s outnumber the yes’s.

I couldn’t keep from crying and you offered a hug.

You keep me accountable for the three good things in my day when I otherwise wouldn’t find them.

You bring me coffee and a scone.

You write a quick note on a card with a gift card inside.

When I feel like a failure you are a constant reminder that I am not.

You leave something kind and unexpected on my desk for me to find.

You send me picture of us that is at least a decade old and feels like a lifetime ago.

You keep me putting that one foot in front of the other. When my world stops or becomes too heavy you keep going. You show me that I can keep going too.

Thank you.