I've known it was coming for about a month. A breakdown. A moment. A time. A mourning. I spoke about it to my counselor. "There is a time coming where I'm going to lose it. I'm going to be alone and I'm taking out his clothes and I will lose my shit." Today was that day. Coming home from the grocery store, I knew it would be over 3 hours before Brad would be home. I'm suppose to shampoo the carpets and bake a pie. Enzo's favorite pie. Sweet Potato Pie. But instead, I took 3 ibuprofen (grieving gives you all kinds of body aches) and made a Dr Pepper Zero. I poured a shot of whiskey and toasted to my son. "I miss you, kiddo." Downed it. Kiddo. I called him that from day one. I called all my boys in Anderson Home that. They're all still kiddo, no matter how old they get. Enzo made sure to let me know he loved being called Kiddo by his mom. "A term of endearment only you use for me. That's a mom thing," he ...
Sometimes it's crazy. Sometimes it's calm.