Deep down, I know I am lucky. I have a wonderful boy. A secure, well paying job. A roof over our head. Food on the table. And a little for extras on the side. When Kurt died, I was fully equipped to be able to sustain Gavin and I on my own. Yes, I know I have so much more than so many people. And I do appreciate that.
But I just don’t feel lucky. I watch my Facebook newsfeeds role by – friends of today and yesterday. Them, their spouse, and their 2.4 children in a moderate house. Trips to warm weather destinations. Family holidays. Date nights. Even just quiet evenings to themselves. All things I want so desperately as I sit on the outside, looking in. All things I long for. All things I know I would have had had things been different.
In my world, they are the lucky ones. Blissfully unaware that mortality is knocking at everyone’s door. Sleeping soundly, untortured by nightmares of the past. We lived our lives no differently. Only I fell in love with a man who was destined, by a fatal heart condition no one knew about, to die. It wasn’t even a conscious decision on my part....
Yes, I know no one’s lives are perfect. That these ideal families I see and long for have their own ghosts, their own demons, their own issues. But today, as I sit here completely exhausted and near paralyzed from my own, I would trade, burden for burden, to have my husband by my side.
Yes, deep down I know I am still lucky. Luckier than many, anyway. But they say the grass is always greener, and my lawn, in my eyes, is dead....
Like I said. I just don't feel very lucky....
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