Tonight I feel broken, weary, chewed up, spit out and cracked up into pieces that are just trying to hang on with fingernails and a prayer.

Does it get better?

Sometimes the words don’t even make sense. Something is said so often that it starts to jumble altogether into something different, unrecognizable.

And yet, I will say it again;

Does it gets better?

I dropped to my knees on my bathroom floor tonight, met you where you were, bent over and whispered it into your ear where you were, brushed your hair from your eye for you while your face was hovering in pain over the toilet as you were throwing up;

“I’m here”

It gets better.

You see I know this because I’ve been there. I’ve been there so often. I will be back again. It’s unfortunate, really.

It’s the way the world has these days of wrapping itself around me and shaking my middle aged body until all that’s left is the chill of bare bones and quiet desperation.

And I’ve lied on the bathroom floor myself and I’ve prayed and I’ve cried and eventually I’ve quieted enough to hear that soft still voice—maybe it was yours?— reminding me:

It gets better.

So today; Today I chose to skip my chemo injection. Today I chose to take care of my son. I needed to be the best I could be. I’m not 100% these days. I wish I could give 100% but my body just doesn’t have it in me anymore. I needed to be able to hold him up and be the best version of myself for him today. The chemo injections don’t let me be the best version of myself anymore. It takes so much from me.

I needed to save my spoons.

#spoontheory

#teenagerdown