I've decided to take February one day at a time this year. Instead of lumping the month together in one large angry ball of grief, one day at a time.
That being said, I can already feel the weight. Ten years of mourning my daughter, ten years of milestones missed. I can feel everything I've spent the last ten years not doing, and it's a heavy weight. I can't describe the way it woke with me this morning, the unwillingness to face the day. I did not want to admit myself that it was the Februaries that caught me off guard, that the reason I felt "off" was just the stupid month. I should be stronger than that by now, I should be able to work around the schedule my heart has been keeping for the past decade. But I am not, I cannot. I will admit that I did push through, I woke myself up and shook it off as much as I could, and for any given day in February, it was a victory. Still, here I lay in bed, tormenting myself with the realizations that it will not end. Time does not heal wounds, it stretches them, they come out misshapen and raw in places that were not raw before. I think I do a pretty consistent job of living my normal life with my only half normal heart, but February keeps coming back. I can't wonder what tomorrow will bring, because I let go of those anxieties to keep myself sane. I will face the next 25 days with as much strength an dignity as I can muster (on any given day.) That's all I can do, hope for the best, as the world crumbles around us. Keep the stresses out, and hold the stresses in.