I’m Going To Kick Butt In 2023
Watch out, I’m bringing my “A” game.
The year 2022 gave me a cancer scare (negative — whew), an unwanted depressive episode and a motor vehicle accident where my car was totaled, leaving me bruised and in pain, and that was just December.
My depression reared its nasty head right after being on a four-day high from all my children under my roof for “Christmas,” two weeks early. We pretended it was Christmas Day even though it was too soon. It was exactly like Christmas with wrapping paper covering the floor, exchanging presents, and a roaring fire to sit beside. I don’t think any night could have been more perfect.
I haven’t seen a real Christmas morning with my kids since Brandon was seven, Shawn was two, and Victoria wasn’t even born yet. This was the result of my mental illness and some atrocious mistakes on my part. I’m so grateful to all of them for being so forgiving and wanting me in their lives now that they are grown.
When my two oldest boys left this time, I couldn’t help bawling as I hugged them. I rested my head against their chests and remembered what it was like when they were so little I could hold them in my arms. I’d give anything to get back all the time I missed, but having them visit me was heaven.
