It must feel good digested to be so damn aggressive
But the pounding in my chest is, begging for protection
You think you’re innocent, pure gold and heaven sent
But, my tears are instruments, they sound like consequences

Help me find a sharper knife
I need to cut you out my life
I take it all, I let it slide
But hey, you went too far this time

Congratulations, got what you wanted, you’re winning now
Congratulations, you got your shot and you wore me down
But I really don’t think you get it now

I’ve gone back and forth all morning with how I’ve wanted to start this blog, and whether I wanted to be petty. But being petty is thankfully no longer part of my character, so I won’t. I will just say that it amazes me how the one person who should be going through this unbearable journey with me, has now stooped so low as to throw other women, more specifically their vaginas, in my face.

#IveMovedOn & #Inolongercarewhoyousleepwith.

The issue that I do have though, and the reason that I mention it at all, is that those things were said to intentionally hurt me. Which is low. And which baffles me. Which shows me what type of heart you actually have buried under that rock-solid wall you’ve build around it.

But comma however, for those comments to have worked, I would need to still be in love with you, which I’m not. Which I haven’t been. So close kiddo, but no cigar.

And even more than that, if I was to be petty, I would have hurt your soul with truth that you couldn’t handle. But Jesus is working in my life, so we’ll leave that be.

But moving on, literally.

Yesterday marked 8 months since the day I hate most in the entire history of this world. Sometimes I can’t believe I’ve made it 8 months from that day, since initially I didn’t want to take one breath past it. There’s still a multitude of days when I don’t want too. But I do. I’ve become quite good at it actually.

Sometimes that in and of itself hurts. It’s almost like I’m being unloyal to my son. To really live and breathe again. But then I see his smiling face in my dreams and I know it’s not. And I’m not. #totalmindfuck

Sunday I went to his grave as per usual, to take fresh flowers and clean everything up. That morning another little boy was buried in front of him. He was only 5 days old. Part of me is so happy that I decided to take Lola to the park first, that way I didn’t get there while his services were happening. Another part of me wishes I would have been there just to hug his Mama, and tell her that I really do understand. And that there is still life moving forward. Even is she doesn’t want it right now and spends her time wishing it away. That I’d wait for the sun with her. And that it would eventually come. Eventually.

And with that, I’m reminded that I have a bigger purpose in all of this. That this life is no longer my own, and belongs to all of these mothers like me. That my son redirected my steps. And maybe not in a direction that I like or that has been comfortable. But one that I needed. One that has helped put me back on the map to my own soul. One that is guaranteed to get me back to him one day.

So I’ll follow that yellow brick road from here to the end. Knowing that I’ve already found courage, truth, and love without Oz.


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