Going on

I work the shift,

I work the stove and cook,

I email, and give kudos,

And all the while I miss you.

I weep on my walks with Odie.

Such beauty, such tragedy.

Wanting to believe,

In some supernatural being,

Who oversees it all.

But it is just the Ides of March,

The confusion of new seasons,

Not experienced before.

Is forgetting therapy?

When you love those with

A plate already so full.

Every psych patient knows

To reach out.

But really, how does it figure?

In the grand scheme of things?

We all know what we should do

But does it really matter?

“Yes” our therapists would tell us,

But, the pain seems so immense.

Think of your children,

Not yourself, because they matter too.

And they did not ask the tacit question,

They were just brought into being.

Find strength from their search for meaning.

What else is there?