It finally dawned on me today why I might feel so peculiarly crappy. Like a dying flea on a sloth's butt. Prone to unprovoked tears. Content to stay shitty.
Elijah's birthday is in nine days.
Shit, that does make me cry.
He would have been four.
Clearly, I show a marked improvement. For the last two years, I've worried about this day months in advance.
This time it snuck right up on me. Like a train running me over.