H is for home or is it?

So we landed in Diani on the world’s best organized extra flight ever!

But as a surprise to me the hard part has just started.

H is for helpless, helpless while the house girl effortlessly takes over mothering duties.

H is for homeless, without a place to fit in perfectly. Being unable to help makes one out of place.

H is for hospital, there where sick and helpless people feel home.

H is for disheartening…. i thought the worst was behind me, nothing could have prepared me for this. Not being to pick up my little girl or have her cuddle close in my arms. Not being able to verbally express how I don’t feel and how I do feel. Seeing my husband in tears all the time, being scared for me and just crying with me as I try to be a helpless hopeless mess of a mother trying to keep it together.

Then the words from a wise lady way beyond her years, “she is two and won’t remember this.”

And there is me not being able to say that it’s not her remembering what I am worried about, I am worried I won’t be able to ever forget, ever forgive my selfish actions that is doing this to both my husband and daughter. I am not scared she will remember the countless times she asks me to pick her up and I can’t or that she cries at night cause she can’t cuddle with me. I am scared I will never forget the ache in my heart seeing her wanting me to be there so badly, the stabbing in my chest when she cries and cries because I can’t hold her on my hip and run through the garden.

The helplessness when my wonderful house girl steps in and take over my job with ease….

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