Broken Record
I feel like a broken record about the kids leaving because I am a broken record about the kids leaving. I wake up and think, “They won’t be here in a few months.” And my heart squeezes like a fist, sometimes taking my stomach with it.
I go through the day having that thought over and over again. I think about what we need to buy, the forms we need to fill out, and the tasks we need to do. I flip through my datebook, looking at the thin number of pages between now and going. I go to bed at night and lie awake, thinking about what the moment will feel like when I have to leave and drive home.
I know I’m boring. I’ve become one single note, played over and over again. I want to say that one day I’ll become a symphony again, but I don’t know if that is true. I only know that right now, I am a broken record, replaying the same thoughts as day spins into night and back into day.
5 comments
Sending you strength to get to the other side. How can you be anything but a broken record?
It is TOUGH but you get through it and it’s good.
Thinking of you. This post reads like poetry. đź’—
I would say you’re torturing yourself, but having regular tasks to do that just reminds you of the fact makes stopping the torture even harder, I am sure. I just hope it makes every interaction with them even sweeter than usual – memories to cherish. And yes, you will become a symphony again. Just playing different music. Beautiful post. And sending hugs.
You’ll be OK – this is a type of grief, and you deserve sympathy. I look forward to when you’re ready to start emerging from the fog of dread.