The other day my son brought home a picture (above) that he drew of the inside of our house for a school project. It was both interesting and heartbreaking to see. Both the kids have emphasized how much they like living in this house. It has been shelter for all of us for 6 years now.
My grandmother is very close to death and I am worn out. There has been a lot of drama, and I don't really want to be involved in it, but I feel stuck nonetheless.
Last night my mom came to watch the kids so I could get a break. I drove around for a few hours but I just couldn't bring myself to get out anywhere. I am fortunate to have so many good friends, but there was no one I wanted to see. I felt like no one could understand me at that particular moment and I didn't feel like explaining myself.
So I drove home and my mother left.
I realized once I got into my bed with the kids that this home is comfort for me too. It's inconvenient and has painful memories too. But at the end of a hard week, the only thing I really wanted to do was crawl into my own bed with my children and go to sleep.
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