My worst day…

Why does everything inadvertently remind me of my worst day??  I was driving down a road and I see a house that was for sale when Michael and I bought our house. From the outside it looks happy, like the people who inhabit it have no cares in the world. It is beautiful, exactly what I thought we would always have someday…a seemingly carefree and happy life.  Then I think about our house and how the grass is routinely too high, the flower bed is overgrown, and the paint on the shutters is fading and cracking.  It is evidence of a life broken. It is evidence of my broken life and it is evidence that life inside our house is not the way Michael and I dreamed it would be. That is generally when the tears start to flow and I think about the desperation my Dad must have felt when a man he didn’t know called him from my phone to tell him he was needed. I think about running from the room and throwing up because my body and my mind both could not handle the truth. I think about the absolute confusion that surrounded that day and how I numbly went about doing whatever I could just so I didn’t have to think.  In the end of my thoughts I am wishing that everything didn’t remind me of my worst way.  I wish that I could go one day without crying and thinking about the soft, firm, and official voices at my door. I wish my house reflected something different. I wish it screamed to the world “HAPPY PEOPLE LIVE HERE!!”  We are moving away from all of the memories soon and to a house that I have high hopes will scream about our happiness from the rooftops. It is a needed change…

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