At the risk of this sounding like some emo LiveJournal entry…

I miss my son. I miss him desperately. I miss having to shape my day around his needs, having him climb on my back for an impromptu piggyback ride, sharing my cereal with him even when it’s identical to what’s in his bowl. (One of the great truths of life, for a two-year-old: Everything tastes better from Mama’s bowl.)

And missing him, being alone these past 10 days and facing another week, is really bringing home to me how much I miss my husband. Not Mr. X, as he’s become, but my wonderful, loving husband, who I adored. I miss the life we were crafting together, day by day.

I’m having to build a new life for myself and for my son. I have not landed on my feet — 10 months of searching for a job in my field makes that clear. My family is as good a safety net as anyone could ever wish for: but — no matter how much they ease it — even they can’t erase the pain and the need to mourn this loss.

Were this a private journal, this entry will end there. It is not, so I feel I need to add for the sake of the public: I’m healing. I’m happy most of the time; I’m even mostly happy at this very moment. This is a snapshot of my emotions at one moment in time, emotions I need to acknowledge.

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