Home > Alone, Children, Family, Struggling, Work Schedule > Monday the 14th

Monday the 14th

It’s always such a chilly and barren apartment the day after. I typically feel emotionless but somehow can easily brim up if I dwell on them or look at their pictures on the bookshelf. I’m someone who can walk, I can mindlessly stare out the windows, I eventually eat when the pangs are loud or anxious and very curiously, have a compulsion to leave everything in the apartment exactly in the condition it was when my children leave to go back ‘home’ after they’ve spent the weekend with me.

Today is a dreadful hangover of emotions. I’m painfully giddy when I pick them up but lifeless flotsam the moment their car has turned the corner moving away from me.

The three of us had fun this past weekend. The highlights for me were the menu items I chose and made: Cajun turkey/chicken burgers with spiced fries, scrambled egg muffins, chicken curry and I even bought an electric mixer so I could produce a red velvet cake. They loved it all and I loved all the time I had to spend in the kitchen chopping and mixing and baking and cooking for them.

My oldest didn’t come over.

I remember how hard I cried when he was born – the relief that he was healthy. That morning my heart, that now pumped for him, gave me my first out-of-body experience. I recall how he ran to me and held up his hands with tearful eyes when he was hurt and it took my breath away. The only message that I have retained on my cell phone is from him wishing me a Merry Christmas in his still little boy voice from 2007 – the first Christmas I was forced to spend without my children.

He wanted to spend the time with his friends instead.

Because of this new work schedule I have, I am only able to see them every other weekend now. The same schedule used for someone who couldn’t care less. It’s my only time. My only time face to face. My only too-hard hug until they tell me to stop. My only time of sitting on the couch with him, letting him lie down the length of the couch and pulling his feet on to my lap. My attempt at physical closeness.

My oldest didn’t come over.

I smiled and laughed with such sincerity this past weekend for the sake of my other two, that they never suspected my mental and emotional geography had quaked, ruptured and split.

Just another day after they leave Monday morning made all the more hurtful by the presence of a tribute to falling, or staying, in love.

Another reminder to add to the list of everything I don’t have.

I look at what is surrounding me – the unwashed stack of dishes, the wrinkled and crooked couch, the fluffy and clean pillows that were tossed onto the floor, and note that I have preserved the lovely stage of where happiness was just a day ago in order to gaze upon it and imagine that I’m recapturing and reliving the good feelings for another day or two.

I hear and see  joy thriving outside my window.

Just another Monday.

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  1. 02/15/2011 at 4:05 AM

    I can’t imagine having to live without a part of you on a daily basis. Or having him choose other people over your limited visiting schedule. My uncle went through the same thing once his boys, my cousins, became teenagers. As much as he looked forward to seeing them … weekends slowly became more and more about friends the older they got. I’m guessing they won’t truly appreciate how you feel or how you hurt until they are adults. I hope it gets easier for you …

  2. 02/15/2011 at 5:23 AM

    It’s so very kind of you to leave me a message yet again. I do so truly appreciate it.

    I know part of it is a teenage thing. I really do. But, it’s no less hurtful. And with an ex who has never been the empathetic or compassionate type there’s only me trying so hard to deal with the issue. And again, those three are the only family I have here on Earth so it makes it a really big deal.

    What I really fear is the ‘they’ll understand when they’re adults’! That’s great in ten or fifteen years, but in the ten or fifteen years until then, I miss out in a huge way. And those are years that I’ll never get back.

    Now for you: I do hope that you are finding your way out of the thicket you seem to have found yourself in lately. You don’t seem the type to let anything depressing clutch you for long at all, so I’m betting that you’re climbing above it as I write.

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