My Failings As A Wife: Part One

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Maybe I’m too sensitive. Or maybe I’m justified. I’m not sure if it really matters. Some days, some moments are more difficult than others. When I step back and look at my marriage I’m very happy. I’m loved, respected, and adored. But little things turn into big things and big things get heavier and heavier.

And I have moments where I throw my hands in the air, look him in the eyes, and say, “I’m done with this. I want out. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

I throw ultimatums at him, reach my breaking point, and in a rage, I storm out of the conversation. It’s not because I don’t love him. I’m not wanting to hurt him. It’s simple really, I am flawed and, at times, I am an imperfect wife.

I’ve walked. I’ve slammed the door and left. I’ve ignored his calls. Ignored his attempts at reconciliation. But even in my anger, I can’t burn through the love I do have for him.

I come back, my anger long gone, and I’m welcomed back with open arms. I feel embarrassed, foolish, and ashamed, but David loves me unconditionally, even when I’m an angry unlovable mess. He doesn’t hold my outbursts over my head, it’s forgiven and forgotten.

David is, more often than not, the calm eye in the center of my storming emotions. I feel everything strongly and, with him, I am my most authentic self. He has never once asked me to change or hide my feelings, even when I’m raging.

His patience encourages me to be better. Kinder. I can’t change my personality, but I can change my reactions. I can correct my flaws and be a better wife.

I am thankful that David gives me the time and encouragement I need to work on my patience, my snarky mouth, my emotional immaturity, and, most importantly, my foolishness.

Thank You, Kara!

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Credit

We bought Brielle a charm bracelet, of course she only had one charm, but I thought it’d be fitting for us to have mother daughter bracelets. David bought me a matching charm bracelet and I wore it for the first time at her funeral. We’ve begun to fill it with charms that remind us of her and our own history.

Kara R. sent me a beautiful necklace with Brielle’s name and date of birth. And I think it’s a perfect addition to my bracelet.

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The charm reads, "The love between a mother and daughter is forever."

I have been wanting something like this, but I wasn’t sure where to buy it. I think these charms are a beautiful addition to my bracelet.

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Brielle's name and birthday.

Kara has been incredibly kind and giving to us through this journey. She always has been a very good friend and I’m very thankful for her kindness, mentorship, encouragement, and presence in my life.

Mother’s Day

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It’s kind of silly. Mother’s Day, I mean. It’s just another greeting card holiday. Not to say it’s not important, but it’s not something we should be reminded to remember. So it’s silly, right? It’s silly that it hurts. It’s silly, that I get through most days as a numb grieving mother, but Mother’s Day makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world. There’s no logic to it, but of course, that’s silly too, because when has love or grief ever been logical?

I feel ridiculous most days. I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Not sure how to deal with everything that’s falling apart. Not ever sure of what the respectable and appropriate thing to do is. I live in a constant state of embarrassment and I have no idea why.

I have nothing to be embarrassed about, nothing to be ashamed of. But I feel so wrong. It shouldn’t matter. Mother’s Day shouldn’t matter. It’s just a day. Just another day. But I don’t like this. Everything feels wrong.

Just the thought of that day turns me into a mess. How am I going to make it through? Nothing is ever fair. Nothing ever goes as planned. Nothing is as it should be. And I am frustrated. I am bitter.

I resent Mother’s Day. I resent my loss and the cruelty of this day for bereaved mothers. I resent my own Mother for being the woman she is, a woman I’ll never allow back in my life. And I resent my situation. I want to know what it feels like to be loved by a Mother, but I also want to love my baby girl. I want to be the mother I never had, but Brielle is gone. And I am alone. Motherless and childless.

And so the twisted, bitter, broken pieces of me are disgusted with the picture perfect smiles of happy mother’s. And the grieving mother and daughter that I am, is happy for those that have children to love. That have mothers who love them.

I am shattered and I reflect my own love and hope, as well as my own brokenness. And I don’t know how to reconcile the two. I don’t know how to do this part of my life, how to get through this day or this season. I crave comfort, but how could I ever accept it? I don’t know how. I am disappointed in myself, and I should be stronger. I am better than this.

Five Years With Rosie

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Today is the fifth anniversary of the day we brought Rosie home from the pound.

I had been looking for a new sister or brother for Emmy. Emmy was bored and was letting me hear about it. She’d walk around the house, give me this, “Mom.” look, and then do her frustrated sighs. I guess I wasn’t interesting enough.

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I knew I wanted a large dog, but I was waiting for the right one. I decided to start checking the at risk dog listings. One day, while scrolling through Facebook, I found sweet little Rosie.

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A rottweiler, no one really wanted Rosie, and she was sad and lonely. The description stated that she was very sweet, but very shy.

My roommate and I decided to visit Rosie and see if she’d be a good fit with Emmy. When we met Rosie at her cage, she went crazy and started snapping and barking. I put my hand against the chain link fence and she calmed down. She was just scared and didn’t know what was going on. A stray, she weighed just 35 pounds and was incredibly afraid.

We took her into a play area and she and Emmy got along great. Rosie was playful and happy. I decided to adopt her, four hours before she was scheduled to be put down. I thought that even if she didn’t work out in our family, at least I’d be saving her from death. Of course, the moment we brought her home it was clear she belonged with us.

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Starved for attention, Rosie would follow us around and snuggle at every opportunity. She was, and is, incredibly loving and kind. Her and Emmy figured out their relationship and now really are just like sisters.

It’s so hard to believe that five years ago we were meeting our little Rose for the first time. I couldn’t imagine our lives without her silliness.

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Rosie has been the perfect addition to our family and has brought us so much joy and love. She’s a solid 70 pounds now and a complete Daddy’s Girl. She’ll lay on his chest, look into his eyes, and smile. A big cheeky grin with very stinky breath. We love her so much, especially Emmy. Adopting Rose was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

If I’m Being Honest

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I’ve written 46 posts since February. When I was pregnant, I’d write something and I’d share it. I might be a little hesitant, but I was more concerned with people knowing Brielle than I was with my reputation or image. But now I’m terrified.

I’m generally a very private person. And I don’t like sharing things on platforms that exist forever. I feel ridiculous. I mean, why would anyone care about me? My life isn’t remarkable. Why do my thoughts and opinions matter? Does anyone really care about what’s going on in my heart, mind, and life now that Brielle is gone?

In the past six months I’ve watched family and friends that said they loved me, walk out of my life. They used Brielle for notoriety and after Brielle served her purpose in their lives, they left. And David and I have been left alone, trying to pick up the pieces. Everyone’s gone.

Why would anyone else stay? Why would anyone care about me or David? Was our daughter just a fad to be used by others? Is that all I am? The mother of a fad? It breaks my heart and destroys my confidence.

I’m vulnerable, broken, and hurting. And I’m not sure how to crawl out of my heartache. I’m not sure how to be confident. I’m afraid that sharing my heartbreak and our struggles for the past six months will ruin the good Brielle’s life did accomplish.

My writing is dark, honest, depressing, and bitter. And it doesn’t make everyone look nice and pretty. It’s honest. And what I’ve learned in my life, especially in the past six months, is that a lot of people don’t really want honesty.

I’m at a crossroads. Do I quit the blog? Do I continue, but only post things that are optimistic (which violates my conscience)? Or do I show my vulnerable, broken side? I’m ashamed of this side of myself. I feel guilty for exposing it. I also feel trapped. And I feel like I violate my integrity if I shut my mouth. And I know, I’ll carry the burden and weight of this pain forever if I don’t open my mouth.

I know who I am. I know what I can live with. I just don’t know what I have the courage for.