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I hate the month of April.  I LOATHE it.  Everything awful and horrible that happens in my life happens in fucking April.  It’s only April fucking 10th and I cannot fucking WAIT for it to be over.  This month ALWAYS drags.

I can think back to being 17 and when my Grampa was sick with cancer.  He had Prostate Cancer that eventually metastasized to his bones, and I thought he had beaten it at Thanksgiving because he looked so well!  My parents and Gramma never told me until April when he got worse and started the chemo that he had had a strontium shot.  It made him radioactive but it improved his health for almost 6 months.  Then he did three rounds of chemo in April and May, I think, but he said he didn’t want to do it.  He was too sick from the side effects and that it’s not worth giving him a small amount of time left on this Earth.  So he and my aunts and uncle began planning his funeral.  I didn’t understand the gravity of this undertaking would have on them.  My Gramma was in denial land-and probably close to having a breakdown.  He passed away July 27, 1997 around 2:30 am.  I know the time because my mom told me he squeezed my uncle’s hand as he passed from this Earth into his scientific and engineering play land.  He was buried on my Gramma’s birthday, July 31.  *My Grampa worked for Allison and even a little stint for NASA.  I’m proud to have been his granddaughter

2002, a month after my son was born, I admitted to myself that I had what might be classified as the “Baby Blues”, and I refused to give in to it.  I fought like hell.  My son was FINALLY “diagnosed” with a milk allergy, so I no longer felt like a failure as a new parent.  It was still horrible to watch my newborn not keep anything down but pedialyte.

In 2003 my girlfriend of 7 years-whom had cheated on me off and on, and I did too-finally got caught by me.  I put my foot down and I told her I was done.  No amount of counseling or begging could undo the damage we had BOTH caused, but I have a child to care for.  His health and well-being are more important than anything else including an unhealthy relationship.  She moved out of the apartment and I stayed with my son.

2004 I met DB.  That began the road of ten LONG and LONELY years. The abuse my children and I suffered.  The inability to just fucking TALK to someone about my darkness that was oppressively pushing upon me.

2009 my Gramma had a stroke-it was the beginning of May, but close enough to carry April’s shitty weight-on the first DAY of my new job.  I remember leaving work and driving to Hendricks Regional Hospital in Danville and WAITING for what seemed like HOURS to see her.  She looked so vulnerable in that hospital bed, shaking from the meds they pushed in her system to break up the clot-which they did thank the good lord and higher powers-but I could TELL.  This woman whom had been my pillar of strength when I was always so weak and lost, looked so tiny and weak, and my only thought was “I can’t lose my Gramma.”  I remember her talking to Granddad about the jelly beans for my niece and daughter.  She thought she was in the kitchen.  She put up SUCH a BRAVE fight, but eventually ended up back in the hospital and began having mini TIA’s that left her unable to eat.  No life-saving treatment via her living will, and who wants to live hooked up to a g-tube and prolong the inevitable?  She was brought home in August on hospice.  I quit my job to help care for my Grandmother because my family asked me too.  I would have quit anyway.  She passed away August 19, 2009 at 430 am.  I know because my daughter screamed in the middle of the night.  My sister’s clock fell off of her wall and my niece woke up.  My mom called me less than an hour later.  She was buried on my daughter’s third birthday.

2014 I separated from DB, April 3.  It was a Thursday.  I started my period that turned into hell.  I had to have a uterine biopsy to make sure I didn’t have anything “abnormal”.  I had such horrible pain I couldn’t walk, drive or work.  I had surgery.  I slipped further into depression.  My car took a shit.

2015 I dislocate my shoulder.  I’m now on workman’s comp.  I can’t work at all.  I start physical therapy twice a week and I don’t go back to the ortho Dr until April 23. I’m STILL fighting with the teachers at my son’s school about his performance-or lack of.  I had to cancel our trip to Florida.  I had to ask for a partial refund on the condo.  The radiator in my car took a shit.  They had to take MY BUMPER OFF to get the old radiator out.  It took THREE radiators to get one that was right.  The dash is lit up again like a Christmas tree, my tires are messed up from the right hub bearing that’s messed up. My dad told me to sell my piece of shit to go out and buy another piece of shit, then raised his voice and told me to pay the bill because I told him I won’t get another car. I’m trying to pay the bill off, but shit!  My shoulder is throbbing today from pt and all the stuff I’ve done with it today.  I can’t watch the first two episodes of season 3 of The Following, and I just want a fucking hug.  And dark chocolate.  And a bottle of Macallan.

 My Baby

Why is it so wrong to feel like shit and wallow for a little time? Why am I wrong for trying to make the best of a bad situation the best way that I know how?  WHY, for the love of all that is holy, is it wrong for me to be this different and better version of me?!  Is it wrong to confront the things that make me so miserable this time of year?