I find myself having moments of feeling like this is home.
Having moments of being actually happy.
Guilt comes first. This is where we live and I am trying my best to make it a home.
He's not here. It can't be home.
Well that's stupid Heather. It can be home. You are here. The kids are safe. Michael would want you to be happy as much as you can.
How can I be happy? He's not here.
I miss him.
We miss him.
He should be here.
The constant struggle is hard to make a home and be happy when the person that completes the family and the home is away.
I KNOW I should happy. It's still hard.
We will leave this place eventually. This is a fact if he stays in or doesn't re-up.
I love this house. This place. This weather. The people. Well most of the people anyway.
I love my husband more.