I had a wonderful therapy session today. I’m dealing with a lot of feelings coming up after my depression and subsequent anxiety. A lot of feelings that need to be talked over and figured out and handled so I can move more freely through my days. I feel better every day. I feel like me again, only better. I’m so grateful to be where I am right now.
So my session today was great and we talked a lot about me being a mom, what that means to me, and what that entails on a daily basis. We talked about how much I love it, how much I love spending time with G, how much he’s growing and how good of a kid he is. We talked about the way we play together, the way he plays with other kids, the stuff he’s learning at home and at school, and how comfortable he seems in his own skin. I walked out feeling so good about me as a mom, and my husband and I as parents. I felt grateful.
Then, on my drive home, I saw an old man driving. There are certain older men who remind me of my dad in his last year, when he was thinner and frailer than he had been in the past. And this man reminded me of that. And I started to cry. I realized I had mourned so much for the loss I felt of my dad not being able to see G grow up, and my son not being able to ever get to know his amazing Grandpa. But I’ve never mourned the loss of my dad not seeing me as a mom. I am so much the parent I am because of the influence my dad had on me, and I wish he was here to see me pass that on.
I thank God my mom is here to see it, and be so much a part of it. But I wish with all my heart my dad could see. I know he’d be so proud of his grandson. And I know he’d be so proud of his daughter.