My husband is dead.
My Rush died in September, of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the chest.
Ironically, it was an accidental shot.
Some days I'm okay.
Some days I'm not.
Yesterday, I walked into our son's daycare and, "You are my sunshine," was playing. I burst into tears right then and there.
Today, I forced myself to update my NSFW blog, and ran across an entry where I posted something sweet he'd said, and broke down again.
It happens. It keeps happening. It will keep happening.
The trick is, to quote the inestimable Mr Churchill, "When you're going through hell, keep going."
My dreams of a homestead are on the backburner in favor of survival right now.
My son and I moved into an apartment in a northern suburb of Atlanta, I started a new job (which makes alone nearly what Rush's and my combined income was), sold Rush's car and motorcycle, and replaced it with a sturdy little Subaru Forrester that's been good to us.
The Cublet is doing well. he hasn't forgotten his father, but he accepts that he's gone. His birthday is next week- he will be 2 years old. Single parenting is hard, but I'm blessed not to be doing it nearly as singly as most people. I have an amazing community around me, and a loving bunch of folks who have been there every step of the way to help me.
Next week, I have a meeting with a friend who's a lawyer to set up a trust fund in case of my death, and guardianship papers for who will raise the Cublet. No, I have no plans to follow Rush, but I am a single parent now and I cannot afford to leave such things to chance and the court systems.
My son is my salvation. My cuddle-buddy on the hard days, my reason to keep going when I want to curl up and give up. The responsibility for him is a heavy, heavy weight, but some days it's the only thing that keeps me anchored to the Earth.
I'm not okay. I'm not nearly okay.
But I'm getting there.