Being a a widow is bullshit.
Being a suicide widow is bullshit.
Being a widowed mother to two is bullshit.
It’s bullshit that you’re not here. That I have poor Luke in my ear, vying for my attention “Mom, mom, mom”; and Mimi asking to go out every five minutes and our daughter crying and now dinner is cold and Gwen’s bottle is too hot and the laundry is overflowing and you’re not fucking here to help with any of it. When I walk out of Gwen’s nursery and I see your stupid face smiling back at me I just want to punch through the glass and rip your pictures apart.
You’re lucky you’re dead, because if you weren’t- I’d kill you.