I got upset with her this morning. She handled it well, but I ended up feeling like a horrible mom. It’s the fear again. It creeps in to every little thing.
Why does grief feel so much like fear? Terror, really.
She missed two full weeks of school, so she’s behind. Her on-line tutors are giving us grace, but eventually the work needs to get turned in. This morning when I checked on her classes, it looked like her grades were dropping because so many assignments are late. She’s always been a straight-A student. She has big plans. I don’t want to have to say had big plans. I don’t want my kids living everything in the past tense.
She’s taken up a new hobby: she’s creating pencil drawings. They’re hauntingly beautiful. I’m sure it feels good to do something that’s wholly unassociated with her before life. But this new hobby takes time, and the school work still needs to get turned in. I hate that I got upset because she needs to express her emotions in the way that makes sense to her, and right now, that must be her way.
It’s hard to concentrate.
It’s hard to do the next thing.
It’s hard to see clearly through tears.
I hate that I got upset with her because I get it.
I’ve always been able to motivate and to help, but I feel so helpless now because it’s so hard to concentrate, so hard to do the next thing, and it’s so hard to see clearly through these tears.