"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”- Seneca
Shields are up.
I am trying. I really am.
I am keeping busy. Cleaning, laundering, shopping, and the like.
I talked with a friend earlier. A good friend. A friend who understands PTSD. We did not discuss the topic at hand but rather he filled me in on his latest activities in forming a new business.
I sent her an email. Short. Sweet. Congrats on the graduation. Good luck tomorrow. Good luck wherever you go and in whatever you do. All my love. Suz.
I am short of breath.
On the verge of tears all day long.
I keep wandering around looking for projects, hoping something will keep my attention long enough to keep it off of the weekend activities.
I get a few moments of peace and the thoughts are back.
I stop by the computer and see her away message.
"Dinner and hanging out with my parents"
And I lose it.
They are there. My replacement. The improved version. Those deemed worthy to purchase and raise my child.
They are dining somewhere in Poughkeepsie right now.
Celebrating her accomplishments, her beauty, her success, her future.
Celebrating my daughter.
And I, her mother, sit here and fight an anxiety attack.
The webcast is at 10 am Sunday.
This is cruel and unusual punishment.
Yet another thing to add to the long list of awful things those lovely agency workers don’t tell mothers who are abandoning their children to strangers.
"Some day you may get to watch your child graduate college from the privacy of your own living room. Isn’t that ZOOPAH! You are SOOO lucky! Oh, you wont be invited, you wont even be told of the event but you can watch it! Isn’t that grand?!!"
Not at all.
It rather sucks.