Surviving Easter

I don't know what my problem was yesterday. Maybe it was the overcast day. Maybe it was my sore joints and throbbing fingers and elbows, or maybe it was just exhaustion. But I just couldn't get into the holiday mood. 

I spent the entire day sleeping on and off. Trying not to move.  Hubbins and the kids cooked dinner. The dinner I planned. They dyed eggs with the egg dyes I carefully selected.  See, I had a plan. I was ready. 146 filled eggs for the hunt.  Lemon cupcakes and a strawberry cake were baked but left unfrosted and undecorated. 

I just couldn't... I couldn't even be mad or sad or anything. 

The night before we were able to make our Jesus cookies and I was able to participate with the opening of the tomb and the hollowed empty cookies in the morning but after that. I just couldn't. 

As the day progressed to night and I forced myself out there for dinner and then the opening of the baskets. I became a little angry with myself. The kids shared their decorated eggs and I realized I had missed that. Dinner was beyond delicious and I realized I'd missed out on the fun of being in there with everyone.  I just started to feel so sad that I missed it and angry because I had felt like I was just being lazy. 

After the kids went to bed, Hubbins and I came to watch some shows in our room. We both actually feel asleep. He in his chair and I in my bed.  When I woke up, Hubbins was still sleeping. I prepared his bed and wound dressings and waited for him to wake up enough to move to his spot so I could transfer him.   

I realized that most of my pain had diminished to the dull ache and I didn't hurt so bad. I felt like crying because it had been so long since the piercing pain had come and not stopped. 

Hubbins woke up and I thanked him for taking over the day. I felt so lucky and grateful to have someone else to do that for me. I've been thinking a lot about growing up with my mom. She was a single mother of 4 girls and I did as much as I could to help her. It was never enough.  But I know before she gave up and let my stepfather back in. She struggled. She struggled to survive, to provide, to stay sane, through all the pain...emotional and physical and she did it alone.  On some level, I understood. But I was just a kid and did the little that I could. 

Sometimes I am afraid that I am putting too much responsibility on some of the kids and other times I am worrying that I am not putting enough.  But then I know I am putting too much on myself.  I don't want to be like my mother even though I feel more and more like her with each passing day. 

I know despite everything. I am lucky compared to her because I have Hubbins who loves me and takes care of me and the kids the best he can. Even though I am hard to deal with and basically a total bitter bitch.  Even though I might not vocalize it enough or even show it. I know that I am lucky that I have Hubbins in my life.