My bad week.

I'm laying in an uncomfortable bed.
It's 2am.
I'm coming off the hardest week I've had in a very long time, both physically and emotionally.
And I'm smiling.

The little boy laying next to me is snoring.
And it's the sweetest sound in the world.

This truly has been a bad week. I can joke around and say "this Monday sucks" or "I had the worst week ever.." But this week has been it.
Like a bad movie.

I didn't frequent social media.
I didn't open my blog.
I didn't pitch.
I didn't respond to the many company requests in my inbox.
I didn't clean my house.
I didn't iron my husbands clothes.
The list gets longer.
I think my daughter ate cereal for every meal.

Unless you've been there, you just can't understand.

One year ago this week my family lost my cousin.
He died of depression.
That's how I see it anyway.
He had been diagnosed with schizophrenia years ago and every moment of every day was a struggle for him.
A struggle that most will never feel.
A struggle that most think doesn't exist.
He buried himself in music.
He was beyond talented.

Were we close?
The short answer, no.
I'm the oldest grandchild, he was next. I haven't seen him in probably 20 years.
I'll not ever see him again.
That hurts my heart.

He was very talented.
Very handsome.
Very.
Sick is not the word.
He wasn't sick.
If you're sick, doctors will do everything they can to make you "better".
If you're sick you can walk into any hospital in the United States and get care. Even if you have no money.
But there was no runny nose.
No Bug.
Just Max and his own self.
The demons he lived with his entire life.
He woke with them.
He closed his eyes at night to the sounds of them.

Shut your eyes and try to picture it.

I never thought I would have a son.
I never thought I would look into eyes and know what love is.

Kenny was born just months after Max took his own life.

I was embarrassed to be excited.

I was allowed to hold my new son.
To touch his warm skin.
To hear his sweet cry.

While my family was sitting quietly somewhere in the dark. Knowing the boy they brought home all those years ago would not be coming to Christmas dinner.

I'll not ask why.
That's not my place.
God has his reasons.

But there are days when I just can't post my sweet pictures of the love that is my life on my social media.

I'm so worried that pictures of my son will upset my hurting family.

Not the idiots who say I post too much. I couldn't care less about them.

It's the ones who would never tell me to stop.
Never tell me if seeing me and my son make them cry.
It's those who are licking a very much still open wound.

I saw a post this week that I didn't comment on.
My hurting aunt simply wrote to Max that she could still smell his shampoo.

How can you read that and not be affected?
How can you read that and not squeeze your child closer?

Life moves forward.
I think if you're a parent who has lost a child, life doesn't move on. It just moves forward.

I love my family.
I should be more diligent in my prayers for their heart.
Jeremiah 29:11.
That can be a hard verse.
It's my go-to when I can't see the end in sight.

I lay next to my son this morning.
And pray for hearts that need healing.
And I even still trust that God Has A Plan.