When you’re dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part
I heard this song recently and I was moved by how true these words rang for me. I’m generally coping very well. I can go through my day, my normal activities, see people, smile, laugh. I get sad moments but for the most part I’m fine. I can even see babies, pregnant women, and children without letting the grief overwhelming me. I’m handling things fine. But getting up is the hardest part of my day.
Ever since I quit my job and started working from home, I’ve no longer been a slave to the alarm clock, which I love. Before this happened, I still woke at a reasonable time, got up, and got started on my day like a normal person. Throughout this ordeal, I’ve found it harder and harder to get out of bed. I don’t set my alarm, hoping to pass as much time as I can asleep and blissfully unaware of what my real life is like. Whenever I am finally awakened, whether it’s by my husband getting up, a bird chirping too loudly, or the neighbors making noise, I try to go back to sleep. I refuse to accept that I am awake, that this is all true. I stay in bed for a long time, just thinking about what I have to do next.
It takes enormous effort to take that first step, to get up, eat breakfast, and start my day. In the first few moments of waking, the knowledge of what I’ve lost and what my life holds for me comes rushing into my head and nearly paralyzes me with sadness. I know it’s not the worst thing that could have happened. I know I have a lot to be grateful for. I know there are people with much bigger problems than I am facing, but I still have to talk myself into getting up and facing my life. Because this is not the life I wanted. This was not the plan. This is someone else’s horrible nightmare. Something I would observe from afar, and remark at the tragedy. This is the life of a person whom I would pity. This is not what I expected, what I prayed for, or what I dreamed for myself.