Another how to... kind of

How to make a bad day worse.

We've all had those days. Nothing works right, the car has no gas, you're running late, the kid wants to have a melt down, your hair is stringy, your favorite jeans are in the dryer still wet, the cat puked on the floor, traffic sucks, your underwear is bunchy... you know the kind of day I speak of. We've all been there. We've all done that. I hate those days.
Typically those days remind me to embrace the "good days". The days where you're ahead of schedule, you have plenty of time to snuggle and read books, your hair looks like you just stepped from the salon, your favorite person has told you they love you, your favorite jeans fit like a glove and your best friend offers to bring you lunch.
Today started as a "bad day". Kate and I were both in tears before we even got to Grandma's house. She was in tears because I threw out the small eraser that she put in her mouth for the 10th time while I was driving. I lost it, yelled at her, reached into her seat, took it from her hand, rolled the window down and chucked the stupid eraser out the window at 50mph. I was crying because, well, it's just what I do sometimes.
I had planned for this day to be a work day, and I did get some work done. I did however, spend more time on the phone with a million stupid people that need a swift kick in the ass. I had paperwork to sign as "widow". Some other paperwork to sign as single, even though I don't feel single. I got to chase all over town for what ended up being a waste of time and when gas is $4.50 a freaking gallon that does not make me happy.
On one of my stops I ran home to get Scott's death certificate and will. Two pieces of paper that break my heart all by themselves. While retrieving them from the safe, I pushed passed Scott's orange "prom tuxedo", and pulled open the safe door. A few things fell to my feet. I look down and in Scott's handwriting is "Katie #5". The fifth birthday card Scott wrote to give to Kate. There isn't a number 4. He was supposed to be here for number 4.

He's not. He's not fucking here.
He won't be here for her 8th grade graduation, her high school graduation, her 16th birthday or her wedding day. He won't fucking be here.

I'm stressed, I'm frazzled and now I'm fucking crushed.

No matter how good of a job I do (and I'm going to do the best job I'm capable of) she'll never know how much her daddy loved her. She'll never know how to make "the face". She'll never know how her dad could perfectly whinny like a horse. She won't remember the pitch of his laughter or the depth of his hugs. The way, even in the end when he weighed 87pounds, he could wrap his arms around you and make the entire world slip away.
She's going to be ok. I know it. We'll both be ok, I just can't help but be heartbroken.

Tomorrow starts the first of many, many birthdays that Kate will celebrate without the physical presence of her father. I had so many great ideas of bring Scott to life for Kate tomorrow but I just couldn't get passed my own grief to make them happen for Kate. I'm so mad at myself.
Kate already had a great birthday party with so many wonderful people coming to celebrate her. Tomorrow she'll have a princess castle cake that Grandma is slaving over, and dinner with her family. Lots of birthday cards to open, so many of them from our "new" friends. Then soon enough, she'll have Disney World.

Above all else she'll always, always, have the love of her mother. Even when I'm throwing erasers out the car window.