Sometimes on days I have off, I stay in bed so long my body is sore. Some days I have to give myself a pep talk so I can get up and finally brush the knots out of my hair. Some days I look in the mirror and cry at what I see. I look at my kids and tell myself they would have a better opportunity at life if I wasn’t in it. I imagine ways I can die by accident so my loved ones won’t hate me for killing myself.
My girl is now the one leaving. And it’s been years since little toes lined up where I now stand, the small fingers that clung to lovies to comfort them as I left.
My boys (14 and 10) can confidently navigate self-checkout, withdraw cash from an ATM, pump gas, make phone calls with confidence, order groceries, manage an Excel budget, order an Uber, etc. because I refuse to send them into the workforce without basic skills."
"Tears filled my eyes. I looked up to see my mother’s face—it was wet from tears—as she watched us count what felt like a million dollars. Someone loved us enough to know that year…we just needed a tiny sprout of hope, not in a little jolly man in a red suit, but in Christ."
