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My day started with mild gastric complaints. IBS-C and Endometriosis will do that to you no matter what you eat or how much you eat right. Five minutes after crawling out of bed, the anxiety set in. My husband told me storms and tornadoes were heading our way. Anyone who knows me knows I hate inclement weather. I hate driving to work in said weather even more.
Teaching was long that day. Hearing To Kill a Mockingbird seven times a day until we finish the novel is less than thrilling. Hearing my other half-brother tested positive for meth and was headed to jail was worse. He’d just gotten out of prison Friday, less than a week ago. Wouldn’t seeing his dead sibling make him want to change?
This was the norm, I suppose. When you grow up in a broken family, events like these are typical. To outsiders looking in, they appear like TV shows. Every time I watch Riverdale, scenarios in my life flash before my eyes. My mom and I agree our lives could be a reality televised event. I know my family and I aren’t alone in these unfortunate circumstances. Yet, tragedy and grief come in waves. Sometimes they are calm and peaceful, keeping to themselves. Other times they’re tumultuous and powerful, destroying everything in their midst.