Sundays are becoming more and more special to me, because they’re the day I’m with the kids. This Sunday we spent the morning at the beach:
And played in the waves:
Then we had a few hours relaxing at our home and went to see an animated 3-D flick:
Leaving the kids this time around was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wanted desperately for things to go back to the way they were–before we had to take turns and before each time I had with them meant that I would have to say good-bye (again). Knowing that no amount of fun that I have with them during “my time” can compensate for the fact that I can’t have them all the time anymore…
It must be a normal thing to hit this emotional wall where you just want everything to be as it was. I can remember back when I was going through my cancer treatments when I would close my eyes and try to wish away all of the ways my life had changed. But no amount of denial ever made it so. I understand that. I know this is a “what has to be done” moment just like those health traumas were so many years ago–like that terrible day when I woke up and realized that my leg was gone and it just wasn’t going to grow back again.
But, by god, knowing all of that doesn’t stop me from wishing, crying, and bone-deep aching right now…as I once again drive away from the home that we used to all share together.
Hugs. Lots and lots and lots of great big hugs.
ohhhh…
Of all the things I’ve experienced in the Army, work, and personal life, with races, challenges, the risk of getting shot at, and worrying that my guys might get shot at, saying good bye to the child I helped raise for most of her childhood was probably the toughest. Saying goodbye “again” and eventually “forever” was the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever experienced.
I could say “you’ll pull through”, or “you can do it”, but I prefer to say “You’re still part of my family and we’re here for you.” I really don’t think a parent should ever be put in this position, ever. I spent many days and nights wishing for the way things were. This is very normal. But I just had to adapt to the way things are and will be, and you will too. You won’t be alone in this.
Life will go on, and you will have many more happy days with the kids. You will continue to watch and see them grow, and be just as proud. You will still be a part of their lives, and they’ll be a part of yours. Things will be different, but they can still be great.
I hope I don’t sound preachy or anything. I just want you to know things will be all right, you’re not alone, and you’re not wrong in feeling the way you do. Writing this is getting me teary eyed, and it’s been years for me, but I try to look forward to, and focus on creating the future with my loved ones.
You’ve got lots more beach, movies, and hugs to look forward to.
You’ve still got their future little worlds to help guide into great big ones.
*hug*
I was at a meeting of scholars and practitioners a few weeks ago when one of the other academics said, responding to something a practitioner had shared, “That must be really sucky for you.” It became a joke within the group that this high-powered academic mind could only describe the practitioner’s experience as “sucky,” without some more sophisticated abstraction, but it was also highly refreshing and affirming moment for the practitioner, and our group has started using that word more often to call it when we see it. All of this is to say that as I read this, my thought is that this completely sucks for you. Not all of it, not the whole divorce and change and transformation, but parts and moments of it just completely suck. I am sorry that I have no more comfort to offer than a validation of your pain.
It’s none of my business but why didn’t he move?
It hurts you’re right. And as your friend Kathy said, it is sucky. Take care.
Thank you for all of the sympathetic comments. This is so….hard.
For deb: I will be moving back to our home once he’s cleaned out his stuff. My living away is a temporary thing. But we will still have shared custody of the kids even after I’ve moved back.
Pingback: to take what is given… « Jana Remy
Pingback: gift | Jana Remy