Pamela, it’s a gay bar.
Zakaria and I went to Michael’s today and I am happy to say we didn’t do too much damage. He really wants to create a mailbox of sorts to send me notes. One of his notes said, “I love you Mommy. Have a good day. I miss Hadi. These are my four sentences.”
Man, I miss him too, Buddy. The absurd amount of blueberries he ate while watching tv, watching him on a scooter, him singing along to “Uptown Funk You Up.” My therapist wants me to delve deeper into the loss of Hadi, my husband leaving me and the loss of my house. Any guesses on which will be the hardest? But that’s when I am reminded of my beautiful child calmly saying, “Mommy, dua” from his hospital bed and I allow myself to go deep into my thoughts and grieve. It’s obvious to me that it is more than just crying and “letting it out,” it’s admitting this is freaking hard and it sucks. Fudgy, fudge, fudge. I have no idea what Allah has planned for me but I think it involves amazingly delicious fudge. Any suggestions on the revamping of my house? Lots of glitter?
No real reason or connection for the photo, I just think it’s hilarious.