Soldier On

I'm totally overwhelmed by the response to this blog.

April 19, 2012

When I found out that my husband made choices which caused him to lose his job via resignation and deeply threatened the fiber of our marriage, I got out of bed. Despite the fact that I was 32 weeks pregnant, I got out of bed. Even though all I wanted to do was hide in bed with my dog and a box of Puffs Plus Lotion or do a full-out Jimi Hendrix on my kitchen floor, I got up.

Why?

Simple. I didn't have a choice.

I had a mortgage. I had a classroom of twenty-eight 4th graders who were in the middle of writing personal narratives. I had a car payment, a credit card bill, and utilities to pay. There were pets to feed. I had a baby on the way and a life to make for him.

I'd love to say it was my faith, or my family, or my friends, or my own determination that gave me the power to go on with day-to-day life, but the truth is starkly clear. I had no choice.

My life was falling apart all around me. If I laid in bed it would only continue to collapse, and I felt like I was dealing with enough problems for the moment. Someone had to step up and use the initial bits of duct tape and WD40 to begin to repair my life. That someone, by default, was me.

So, if you wondered how I went to work, or the grocery store, or to the doctor those days immediately following January 25th, now you know. I didn't have a choice.