The In-Between

Some days, I wonder if we will survive. Not in a hyperbolic, dramatic kind of way, but an is-someone-truly-going-to-get-hurt kind of way. Those days are nearly unbearable, except I have to bear them. I grieve and I pray and I try to be empathetic to one son while protecting and comforting the other who has been on the receiving end of abuse from his sibling.

Then, there are days when I wonder if it was as bad as my memory would have me believe. These days, we interact as many other families do, with squabbles and laughter, genuine connection and arguments, but all in a way that is do-able. I cherish and treasure these days, which are much fewer than I would like.

And then there are days like today. We’re not in crisis here, no one is screaming or manic at 2am or cursing and running away… but we’re not in the good place, either. And I am anxious just wondering which way we are going to go. I struggle to embrace or enjoy that we aren’t in the awful place, because what if that’s where we are in a few hours? And what if I get my hopes up for a good day and they’re dashed? How can I mother my boys if I’m devastated by grief once again?