It has definitely been a while since I last posted anything, and for that I am sorry. Being a mother has been more than I ever thought it was and with B working and being a full time student it falls on me a lot. Don’t think I am complaining I wouldn’t change my life for anything I just sometimes wish I didn’t have the thoughts I had towards B. I’m not mad I just wish he would understand that I am tired too.
Home. People say a lot about home. Home is where the heart it. Home is where your family is. Well home for me hasn’t felt like home in a really long time. Home was where I was brought home at 3 months when my two sisters and I were adopted by our aunt and uncle. Home was where I learned to ride a bike and swim at during the summer. Home has always been the same green house with white trim and an american flag hanging proudly in front. Home was home until February 19th, 2018. For the last five or so days prior to that date my dad kept saying he had heartburn. I was almost 7 months pregnant and my brother’s girlfriend was sick. They both lived with us at the time so B and I thought it would be best if we stayed at his moms for a couple days so I didn’t get sick. When we finally came home everyone told me, “Dads not feeling well”. Well if you knew my dad you would know he doesn’t get sick. He is your average hard working man who would work 6 days a week and was in better health than anyone. Or so we thought. He went to the VA that around the 15th or 16th and the doctor told him he was fine. IT WAS JUST HEARTBURN. Jump forward to Monday February 19th, 2018. I woke up that morning and he was still in bed, which was abnormal since he woke up and normally left for work before the sun even came up. We talked briefly and I told him, “Daddy you don’t look good, please go to the hospital”. He agreed. He said he knew something was wrong and planned on going that day, but first he had to go to work so he could finish a job. He loved what he did and said he couldn’t just leave it unfinished. My brother drove him to work and I said goodbye and that I loved him. That was the last time I saw my dad coherent. That was the last time I got to hear him tell me he loved me and that he would see me later. 5 hours go by and I get the call. Everyone was meeting at the hospital and daddy wasn’t looking too good. That’s when the doctor said it. He had been having a massive heart attack for 5 days and he needed open heart surgery immediately. He never made it for them to even stabilize him. I lost my dad on February 19th, 2018. That day I also lost my best friend, my hero and my unborn child’s grandpa. Everything happened so fast I never got a chance to catch my breath because shortly after a huge fight broke out. My brother and my sister (who never has liked our brother) got into it because she blamed him for the death of our father. She said he should of drove him to the hospital not work. It got to the point where I had to call the police. B had enough. We packed our stuff and moved in with his mother. How was I suppose to leave my mom? It wasn’t even a month after he passed. I never got to grieve. As soon as we got to his mothers I was miserable. I couldn’t wait to go back home. I tried to make the best of it but all I wanted was my mom. But there was no time to talk to B because he didn’t want to go back plus our daughter was born April 28th, 2018 so I wasn’t in any condition to move or anything. After a long labor I was overjoyed to have her in our arms. We had family and friends in the hospital room the whole time we were there and it was just filled with love and excitement. Then we came home and it hit me again. I was miserable. I was a first time mom recovering from a c section and instead of having the help from my mom, I had his mom. Now don’t get me wrong I appreciate all his mother did for me but I just feel like its not the same. A month after she was born we all got into a fight and ended back at my moms, all three of us. Now B’s grandma is tearing her whole house upside down to make space for us to go to her house because there we would have two rooms instead of sharing with our daughter. Except now I don’t know. All those feelings are coming back and I don’t know how to tell B because we always fight because he doesn’t want to be here but I can’t let go. It’s the only piece of my dad I have left is being in this house. This is where I have 21 years of memories and I am so stressed out because it is hurting our relationship. I just wish someone could tell me what to do because my heart is telling me to stay but my head knows ideally two rooms would be better than one.