Mornings are the hardest. Mustering the strength to sit in the courtroom. To hear, to see and to relive someone’s last moments. Cut short undeservingly. The accused being someone I love with all my heart. Knowing the truth of him and his heart. His great love and loyalty. The most complex of juxtapositions. The tears of his siblings, crying for him and still reeling in the grief of losing their father a few short months ago. Discounted in his death but so vital that in his life. These children I know he loved. Mere after thoughts due to a persistent jealousy, even after his death. My nest is hurting. My babies are hurting. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, but get up every morning smile brightly and walk confidently. Mornings are hard.