For Sammy...

I'm not ready to sleep. To close my eyes and open them on the day we lost you. I don't want to write that it's been a year. You've been gone a year. Every memory after today is including a time you weren't there.

I'm told I should be handling this better. My grief should be lessing. Some are losing patience with me. But, the truth is, some days it is better. And then a memory eases in and I'm a Hot Mess in zero to 60...

I miss you every day. Most days I breath. Some days I struggle with just that. Breathing.

If only saving you had been as simple as ensuring you were wearing proper safety equipment for whatever adventure we were embarking on when you were a year old...

But Life. And we failed you. I failed you. And we've lived a whole year without you. And I never got to say goodbye...

The one about the mantra...

I'm good. We're good. I'm good...

For the past year people have been asking how we're doing. For various reasons. Because it's been a shitty, trying year. They've asked how my sister's doing. How my husband is doing. How my daughter is doing.

We're good. They're ok. He's good. I'm good. I'm good...

In all of the moments I had to remind myself to breathe. I'm good. I'm good...

I haven't written about our sweet Sammy because it's still too raw. Too open. One day I will. But not now. So, when asked? I'm okay. I'm good...

Our baby girl's arthritis has flared up with such a vengeance her one medication is no longer keeping it under control. She was prescribed another, and it was useless. So now she's on another. The one we never wanted to see because we know it. We know the effects it has on her dad. The life it takes away. But it also shuts down the disease. Giving her back use of her wrists. Allowing my precious 9-year-old daughter to write, and scamper across the monkey bars. So our plan has been that she takes the medication on a Friday night. Time for her to sleep through the worse of the side effects, and a weekend to get over the rest. She's good. We're good. I'm good...

She's in therapy once a week...switching off between counseling and occupational. Head, sensory, and body. She's good...

Winter arrived in full force a few days ago. I was raised in the tropics. I'm miserable in the cold, and this morning we were at 0 degrees F. Old house. Old windows. Old heat system. All I want to do is drink hot tea and hibernate. But I remember a few years ago when that heat system broke. So even bundled up, knowing there is actually heat coming from the vents...I'm good.

It's been a year of talking myself into getting out of bed each morning. Checklists throughout the day, the week. Get outta bed. Check. Get the kids to school. Check. Make it to work--on time. Check. Get the girl from school. Check. Go over homework with the boy. Check. Get everyone to bed. Check. Sit. Breathe. Get myself to bed. Check.

And wake up knowing we made it through the day before. We'll make it through today. And we're good. We'll be okay.