Mask = A day in the life

Some of the things I constantly hear from people are: 

You are one of the strongest people I know. 

I don’t know how you get out of bed each day and are able to function. 

If I were in your shoes I think I’d be a mess and stay in bed all day. 

I don’t know how you do it. 

I’m going to let you in on a little secret…I’M NOT STRONG. 

I don’t choose to get out of bed everyday, I have to. I have reasons to get up everyday. Those reasons are simple, Ameriah, Dominic, and Arabella.

I honestly couldn’t tell you where I would be today, If I didn’t have these three. I don’t know that STRENGTH is what you would see, if they didn’t need me. I don’t know if I would be able to wake up and put on my mask everyday. Because that’s just it, I look strong because I have to. I have no choice. I have three other children relying on me to be their rock, to be their strength, to do my job and be their mom. To be the mom they need me to be for them. I put on my mask so that they don’t have to. 

On the outside I may look like I have it together. But I don’t. I may look like I’m strong and I’m able to go on with my life. But I’m not. I am the face and voice for the #LiveforJacob site and my goal is to raise suicide awareness in his name, so I have to LOOK like I have it all together. But on the inside, where no one else sees me, where it’s just ME. I’m a mess. 

So today I’m going to walk you through a typical day in my shoes, with this weight of my broken heart and soul. With this pain. Let’s see if you can still tell me those words:

You are one of the strongest people I know. 

I don’t know how you get out of bed each day and are able to function. 

If I were in your shoes I think I’d be a mess and stay in bed all day. 

I don’t know how you do it. 

7:00 a.m.

Jack’s alarm goes off. 

Arabella starts to stir in her bed. 

I look over to my nightstand and see Jacob’s shirt, still sitting there, folded. It’s the shirt he was wearing that day, his last day with me. From where I lay, I can still see the stains from him falling while skateboarding in the front yard that morning. Then, I remember that this nightmare wasn’t a dream but now my reality. 

I get up and walk to Jacob’s room to grab Arabella. As I walk in, the first thing I see is the mural he drew on the wall and as usual, my heart breaks just a little more. To be honest, I don’t even know how it can keep breaking after it was already shattered, but it does. 

I bring her back to my room and feed her a bottle. 

We say bye to daddy when he leaves for work and then Arabella and I have breakfast. 

10:00 a.m.

I lay Arabella down for a nap and again, I look at the mural on the wall. Most times tears well up in my eyes but I fight them back. I can’t fall apart again, not now.

I go down to do laundry or clean the house. I have to. I have to stay busy or my mind starts race, I start to feel the pain of missing Jacob and I begin to cry. Most of the time staying busy doesn’t even work and I end up in tears anyway. 

11:00 a.m.

Arabella wakes up and I feed her lunch. 

We play and get ready for our day and then play some more. 

4:00 p.m.

Another day gone.

I start to gather our things as we need to head out to daddy’s work now. We usually meet Jack on my way to work to drop off Arabella with him as he is getting off. 

I’m headed to his work and pass the cemetery on my way. I get anxiety every time I pass where Jacob is buried. My heart starts to race, my hands start to hurt from gripping the steering wheel so hard as I fight to keep the tears in. 

4:30 p.m.

I pull up to Jack’s work as I try and gather myself before I text him that I’m outside. 

I kiss him and Arabella and then make my way to work. My whole drive to work I cry. It’s not just a tear here and there but a full blown kid lost their favorite toy, hysterical cry. 

I pull up to the garage, park and compose myself. Everyone can probably tell I’ve been crying but I think by now they finally know not to ask.

I take my assignment, get report and go about my shift. I seclude myself and barely talk to anyone. 

6:00 a.m.

It’s the end of my shift and I head downstairs to give report to day shift, then I clock out and head home. 

The whole ride home I cry. I think of him and some of the memories we made. I think of the night he left, and I cry again. 

When I get home I grab Arabella, change her, feed her and play a little before Jack takes her to the babysitter. It’s time for me to go to bed.

When they leave I cry some more and then I finally fall asleep. 

All to wake up and go through it again. 

This is my new norm, my reality. 

How do I go on? How do I get up everyday and act so strong and brave?  I don’t. I’m not strong. When I hear those words people keep telling me, it makes me laugh a little to myself. I know what I go through everyday and how I feel so weak and helpless. 

I don’t feel strong at all. I mean do strong people cry everyday? Do they hide their tears? 

I can only describe how I continue as putting on a mask while getting ready.

 A mask that shows a smile, laughter and joy. 

A mask that hides my sadness and my pain. 

I’m thankful for my mask because it hides my face, the face I see everyday looking back at me in the mirror. I don’t recognize this face anymore. It looks 10 years older then it did 8 months ago. It has more wrinkles, and lots of grey hairs. It doesn’t look like me. I guess that’s something I’ll have to get used to, just like I’m getting used to putting on my mask everyday now.