Days like freaking Father's Day always find us all tied up in knots, snippy and grumpy and short tempered. I hate Father's Day. I hate Mother's Day even more. I can't make my husband one of those cute pictures with my kids holding up letters to spell "Dad" or do handprint art or... Or anything. My man can't gather his boys around him and bask in their giggles. One is missing. One is forever and ever missing.
So, once again, as always, we baton down the hatches, turn the nose into the heart of the storm and just plain survive.
Once again I try desperately to, and fail miserably at, striking a balance between "I want to celebrate that you are an amazing father" and "We both wish we could just curl up and die today."
Even when things are good life sucks.
I miss you Damon.
Until next time...
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