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.
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
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