It must be really hard to be my mom.

I never thought my parents loved each other all that much growing up—but now I realize that it was because my dad was sick. Being sick turned him into a different man—a man too tired to love or care. But I got a chance to peek at some of his poems he wrote my mother, and they are undeniably cheesy and beautiful. They are as lame as ‘roses are red, violets are blue, i hope you don’t think this poem is cheesy, but I love you’ and they break my heart to see them. 

How does my mom deal with Valentine’s Day, her birthday, her anniversary, and the anniversary of my dad’s death all in one week? It’s only February 2, and I’m ready to break down over it.

I just have a lot of feelings lately.