The Missing

Every other week, Princess scrunches up her little face - sometimes the tears fall and sometimes she just complains when her brothers and sister have to go to their dad's. Even though this is the way that's it has always been for her, she still cries for them not to leave.

And every time, they tell her it is okay, they will be back. And each time, I fight to swallow the lump that has formed in my own throat - I don't want them to go either. I want to stomp my feet and yell, "This isn't fair!"

Nothing in life prepares you for the constant interruption of the life you have going...so your kids can go to their dad's. I suppose some people would think I should sigh with relief and relish the parenting "break" this affords me. I am supposed to feel "fortunate" for all my blessings in divorce: my kids have a dad who spends time with them, they have two families, they have a great step-dad and a host of step-relatives that love them.

Doesn't matter. I still want to throw myself down on the floor and have a fit, sob that I want the kids to stay...but I don't.

I miss a lot of their lives - even though when you count it out on a calendar, it is only 10 days a month; I miss them. I missed them 7 and 8 years ago, when they were all still so little and dependent on me - when they were full of love for their mother (now they barely talk to me). The ache follows me, like a shadow. I have learned not to outrun or hide from it...because it is always there, no matter how much time passes or how old they get.

I miss seeing them after school, when I get home from work - they bring life to the house and fill it with energy; I miss the, "what's for dinner?" greeting upon arrival home. I miss the rolling of the eyes when I ask if their homework is done, because of course, they don't have any. I miss the smell of their stinky little bodies after football, baseball, or an active day on the playground. I long to hear the familiar sounds coming from their rooms - the guitar, the tv, the laughter; proof that they are home and safe. I miss the scent of "boy" and deodorant when TLo hugs me (with one arm) before bedtime. I miss how we have family time around the dinner table when everyone laughs and is silly; when Princess does her best comedy routine and we laugh until we are crying. And yes, I even miss the clothes on their floors and unmade beds - further proof that their rooms belong to them and are not empty caves waiting for their return.

When the loneliness gets to be too much, I will text them, hoping for a return message - acknowledgement of some sort. Sometimes I'll dial one of them on their cell phone just to hear their voice on the outgoing recording. I don't leave a message because I know they won't return my call.

I don't talk much about missing my kids because it always leads to the same thoughts, the same conversation with myself. Ten years ago, when I never dreamed that this missing would become my silent companion, if I had known how I would long to have my kids with me all of the time - would I have acted or chosen differently? Could I have? I know, logically, that things happen for a reason and I know how blessed I am to have a wonderful life with Handsome and Princess, but it doesn't make the ache go away; it doesn't make the realization that I am missing out on half my kids' lives any less painful.

"Where's Sissy?" asks Princess, when I pick her up from school.

"She's at her dad's."

"I miss her," she says, just has she has done every week since she could talk.

"Me too," I say, as I embrace my silent companion and head home to my empty, dark house.

~alicia

Fairy Tales Are Just That...Tales

I grew up believing in the "happily ever after" of marriage. I dreamed, as a girl, of my wedding day - the dress, the flowers, the party, the music. What I didn't dream of is what would happen when the happily ever after came to an abrupt halt; the way my life would play out from that point on.

I was married, to my high school sweetheart; we were very young and foolish and thought we could rise above all the challenges of marriage and life. We were wrong.

After six years of a Naval career, which meant a life at sea for one and a life on land for the other, it was time to move back in together and have a "life." Not so easily done when you've only seen each other a total of 18 months over a period of five years. As a couple we quickly learned that the ocean wasn't the only thing seperating us. It is easy to be married when you only have the highs of a return to port, a fun-filled weekend with no worries, carefree living; then the the lows of saying yet another goodbye. Such was the rollercoaster of ups and downs that we called marriage. However, when the rollercoaster became a merry-go-round, someone got bored.

Divorce is like the fire-breathing dragon in the fairy tale...it paralyzes you with fear. It breathes fire, it beats you down, it makes you cry, it makes you scream, it makes you afraid to put one foot in front of another to try to move past it. No matter where you go, there it is. You want to run, to flee, but you can't find a way around it. You try to wish it away, pray it away, but it is there to stay.

People ask, "Didn't you see it coming?" No, I did not. I had no sense that it was coming - the the castle was on fire, the dragon was at the door, the ship was sailing without me. Clueless. Which made it even more embarrassing...other people knew before I did.

After months of looking for an easy answer, I faced the dragon - it was there and I had to accept it. I remember feeling like such a failure; that the one thing I had dreamed of my whole life, the one thing I thought I would be successful at was gone. It was like having the rug yanked out from underneath me and I couldn't get back up.

After months of struggling to survive, to get out of bed, to function like a human being, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. My dearest friends were there for me, helping me step-by-step and day-by-day; saving my life, believing in me when I did not believe in myself. I realized I had three wonderful kids that were also dealing with the dragon and I had to help them; be strong for them - they were so young to have to the face the dragon! The devastation began to seem not so devastating, but there was a lot of work to do and so I started rebuilding.

And, alas, a White Knight came along and saved me from the fire-breathing dragon. He came along and swept me up, took me and my children away from the devastation and helped us to rebuild so we didn't have to do it alone. Suddenly, I was surrounded by love, laughter, sunshine and happiness. And the merry-go-round music began again, but the music was different this time and the ride was smoother.

Call me cynical, but I don't believe in fairy tales anymore...

But I do believe in the power of love

~alicia

When I Grow Up...

All I ever wanted to be was a mom.

Some will say I had low aspirations for myself and did not aim high enough; some will say I was lazy and took the easy way out (ha!). All I know is that it has been the one constant in my life, the one thread that wove itself into my tapestry I call life, the one thing I really wanted to be "when I grew up."

Oh, there were other dreams that were tossed in there that changed with the wind and with my age - at 5, it was a ballerina; as a teenager it was a model and Miss America; along with the standard fare of fireman, basketball player, and veterinarian...all those fun and exciting jobs.

Even today, as a mother of four beautiful kids, and nearing 40, I have colleagues and bosses that tell me I should go back to school and get a degree. So I set myself to thinking of "what I want to be when I grow up" - a life coach? A journalist? A computer programmer? An accountant? A lawyer? Where is my passion?

Passion...slowly my mind turns to thoughts of my children - my youngest in 2nd grade - and how I need to help them first get through school before I can even think of going back to school. I think of my oldest son, in college, preparing for life on his own, making decisions that will affect his path. And, as for my kids in the "middle" they are embarking on some wonderful times and experiences in their lives. Do I really want to miss out on all that because I am sitting in a classroom, or up to my eyeballs in homework?

I began as a young mother, nearly still a child myself - barely out of my teens and married when I had my first child. When I think about the classroom I've been a student of for the past 18 years, it is the classroom of life. It takes a lot to make a family work, to raise kids, especially on your own. When you are in your early 20's, it is a time for figuring out who you are, what you believe in, why you are here...but I didn't have time for all that because I was busy being a mother and a wife. I guess somewhere along the way, I found my answers. Maybe those answers aren't the same ones that I would have found had I been in college, living in a dorm and living life like all of my friends, but answers, nonetheless.

I will say that the lessons I've learned can't be found in any textbook, or necessarily in the Bible, but they have been great lessons - things that my children have taught me (probably more than I've taught them), lessons by trial and error and, the ever popular and favorite of mine, lessons by fire. And here I am, well past the age of college and degrees, and still learning something new every day - about myself, about my kids, about life. Now THAT is a classroom!

So, once again, the decision I come back to is that what I want to be when I grow up is a...Mother. Not just any mother, but a GOOD mother.

I have always felt that I carried these beautiful beings in my womb and it is my job to give them the tools, morals and values to see them safely through to the end of their journey here on earth. I consider it a privelege to help guide their footsteps, to cheer them on and to help them when needed.

It is sometimes a hard path, one that leaves me in tears from time-to-time, as well as doubting my abilities. It is at those times, when I feel at my lowest, that one of them will do or say something remarkable to me that fills me with hope and the ability to continue going. I hope someday they will each understand where I have been coming from all these years and the reasons for my determination to make sure they are safe, healthy and making responsible choices. Until then, I will just continue to fail, learn and love every minute of it.

~alicia