On Not Caring

I read a blog post the other day titled “Eight Lessons for Newly Bereaved Mothers” by Lexi Behrndt over at Scribbles&Crumbs. The entire post felt incredibly relevant, but number three stood out the most: “Don’t be surprised when you just don’t care.”

This could not be more true. I used to care. A lot actually. About little things. And don’t get me wrong – I still care about important things, namely people. But the little things… Nope. Not a care.

It’s 11:00 am, I’ve been awake for hours but I’m still in bed and my stomach is growling.
Don’t care. Too tired. No reason to get up and I can eat later.

I haven’t had a shower in days and I’m wearing the same PJs I’ve been wearing for a week.
Don’t care. I’m not leaving the house and Hubby hasn’t told me I smell yet, so I must be ok.

It’s dinner time and Hubster asks, “What would you like to eat?”
Don’t care, as long as someone makes sure I eat something.

Someone asks, “What movie/show would you like to watch?”
Don’t care. I’ll only half pay attention anyway because my mind is elsewhere.

I’ve told people that I’m done with making decisions. They seem to think I’m joking. But I am, in fact, mostly serious about it. We’ve had to make so many decisions in the past 6 months, most being decisions I never thought would have to be made. And many decisions were made for us, without options or time.

Choosing to (eventually) get out of bed each day, choosing to love my husband, choosing to cling to God…. Those are really the only decisions that seem to have importance right now.

I appreciate being given options. Really. But don’t be shocked when I say something like “you pick” or “whatever sounds good to you.” I honestly mean it. And I promise that when I do finally¬†have an opinion again, I’ll share it.

This doesn’t mean I’m depressed. It just means I see what’s most important and what’s not.

With hope and love,


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