So tired one day post-gum surgery. Stitches are sticking up so far over my tooth that I peer into the mirror and use my cat claw snippers to shorten them. Pick the dirtiest scissors you can why don’t you? But I did stick them in alcohol first.
The tears came today after it was over, off and on all day. I call my younger son, Cory, and break into tears. He listens, understands his Mom, and isn’t too concerned because he knows they are stress tears, tears of being brave that I let go of when it is over.
A sadness filled me all day, a sadness of how hard this is each time, harder each time I have to lie back to have work done…if that were possible. Is it because that memory of the first attack swims closer to the surface each time? It seems so. It feels so close.
I have to lie her down, that little child, and ask her to lie still, be good, do as you’re told, and be hurt. Of course it is draining. My eyes tear as I write this. Me and her. We are together. But in that chair I am 8 years old, more and more the age of eight the older I get.
Does that mean the memory will surface? Will it better if it does? Will these things become easier? Will it never surface, and just swim close enough to make me sad, and weak, and cry?