Good riddance 2018.
Good riddance latex gloves, alcohol swabs, shower chairs, needles.
Good riddance nightmares.
Good riddance shower floor, where I often sat when I was too exhausted to do anything else but let the water pour down my back.
Good riddance probate.
Good riddance Zofran, 5FU, morphine and Ativan.
Good riddance estate tax return with your stupid requirements to produce a statement of every account we had the day Shawn died.
Good riddance exhaustion and subsequent unplanned naps in living room chairs.
Good riddance crying in public. Not forever, but just during those times when I’d like to hold it together.
Good riddance documents I had to sign saying what would happen to my children if I died.
Good riddance junk mail in Shawn’s name.
Good riddance insurance provider who wouldn’t cover my children’s grief therapy with the only grief therapist who would take them immediately after their father’s death.
Good riddance guilt.
Good riddance AT&T guy who refused to take the electronic death certificate and made me go home with three kids in tow to get the paper copy. I keep one in my glove box now. And I switched phone companies.
Good riddance feelings of inadequacy as my children’s sole living parent.
Good riddance fear.
Good riddance electric and water companies. I mean, not really, because I still need you, but seriously you’re going to be sending the bill to Shawn Brimley until I’m 80 and I’m just going to be okay with that.
Good riddance big decisions about my children’s future, my finances, and my life. Not all of those decisions are gone, but there’s no way they will be as major as they were in 2018.
Good riddance doctor’s bills that show up for Shawn months after his death.
Good riddance bargaining with God. Turns out, it doesn’t work that way.
Good riddance looks of pity from the house appraiser and the banker and anyone else who learned about Shawn’s death.
Good riddance terrible decisions like choosing a casket, a gravestone and the readings for the funeral. I don’t remember what was said anyway.
Good riddance anger, or at least misplaced anger.
Good riddance 2 am and your terrible anxiety.
Good riddance loneliness. Or at least to thinking that I’ll forever feel this way.
Good riddance insecurity. I made it through this year, which must mean something.
Good riddance 2018.