Today

One day I am fine, good even, and then... I am today.

Today I feel broken into pieces.  Aching pieces.  Hurting pieces.

Paige takes a nap, I sleep, and Hope watches too much TV.  But I don't feel guilty about it.  Not today.  Today I just can't, even though I know she will be cranky when I turn it off, because she's always that way after being in front of a screen for too long.

I cry in the car, when the girls aren't with me.  I want to cry in the grocery store.  I want the world to know that I'm not okay.  But I want to hide.  Because I don't want the world to see my pain.

I know that I must verbalize what I need.  That I can not expect them to read my mind.  To know what I need if I do not tell them.

But I do not know what I need.

I need to get a night away, to curl up at home.  I need to talk about it, to be distracted.  I need to be surrounded, to be left alone.  It varies day-to-day, moment-to-moment.  I can never figure out exactly what it is I need, what I should be asking for.

Even though I know if I ask, they will give it to me.

Today it is hard.  I want to feel happy, to be happy, but I am not.  Because the doors of my loss were unexpectedly reopened, like they can be at any seemingly random time.

Today I feel broken.  Today I ache.

But tomorrow is a new day.  And maybe tomorrow will be much like today, but maybe it won't.  Maybe tomorrow will be less difficult, less painful, filled with fewer tears and more smiles.