A Life Held Together by Routine and Grief
Four months after giving birth to my son, Ones, my life still felt unreal.
Like I was living inside someone else’s story.
His father, Jesse, had died of cancer when I was five months pregnant.
Becoming a father had been his greatest dream.
When the doctor said, “It’s a boy,” I collapsed in tears.
It was everything Jesse had hoped for.
And he wasn’t there to hear it.
Raising a child alone is hard.
Doing it while grieving, with no savings and unpaid bills stacked on the table, felt impossible.
My days blurred into exhaustion:
- Late-night feedings
- Endless diapers
- Pumping milk between tasks
- Surviving on almost no sleep
To keep a roof over our heads, I cleaned offices at a massive financial firm downtown.
Four hours every morning.
Before the executives arrived.
Toilets.
Trash cans.
Glass desks.
It was brutal.
But it paid for rent and formula.
While I worked, Jesse’s mother, Peggy, watched Ones.
Without her, I wouldn’t have survived.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
