My children were just picked up by their father again, as happens every other Friday afternoon. There were discussions on whether to bring the sleds, did they have their snow pants, Sara telling me she’d text when they made it to the other house, Jack saying only goodbye to my I love you.
I shut the door behind them, locking it, and I sit on the new purple and gold bird settee (it’s much more darling than it sounds), looking out the plantation shudders of my new home. The truck pulls away, with a little bit of my heart in the backseat, and I keep sitting.
It seems colder when they’re not here.
My heart feels hollow, not so much out of anticipatory missing of them, though I will, but because this new routine is just that. A routine. A part of our lives now. We made some choices, he and I, along the way that have brought us to this place of having to make our children move back and forth between two houses, perhaps not feeling like either of them are completely home.
It’s snowing a full, heavy snow and I won’t fall asleep knowing that my babies are just a few steps away tonight.
They say it gets better but right now I don’t know. The redundant goodbyes are killing me.
I shut the door behind them, locking it, and I sit on the new purple and gold bird settee (it’s much more darling than it sounds), looking out the plantation shudders of my new home. The truck pulls away, with a little bit of my heart in the backseat, and I keep sitting.
It seems colder when they’re not here.
My heart feels hollow, not so much out of anticipatory missing of them, though I will, but because this new routine is just that. A routine. A part of our lives now. We made some choices, he and I, along the way that have brought us to this place of having to make our children move back and forth between two houses, perhaps not feeling like either of them are completely home.
It’s snowing a full, heavy snow and I won’t fall asleep knowing that my babies are just a few steps away tonight.
They say it gets better but right now I don’t know. The redundant goodbyes are killing me.
5 comments:
I wish I could have the right words for you. Your words from your book and your blog and your very kind email have helped me so much recently. I pray for you often. I hope you know how much your words are helping people.
I know your pain...as I have and continue to travel down that road. Its' been almost 7 years since my ex-husband and I split...my choice to do so. The guilt I have for the pain I caused my children was unbearable at times. I knew the separation/divorce was something I had to do or I would continue to slowly die inside but I can still remember the look in my children's eyes when I told them their dad and I were getting a divorce. My heart broke that day and is still mending as are my children's. I know that through the power of the Holy Spirit, he is healing all of us (ex-husband included) and allowing us to move on. I have only now begun to allow myself to receive the forgiveness the Holy Spirit has already given me. I pray for your journey and for peace in your heart. It's a tough road to travel...so much pain and anger and hurt...I'm still on it but the end is in sight.
I cannot imagine your pain or how you ache but I know our faithful Lord does and will give you what you stand in need of. You have shown more courage, bravery, and transparency than most can even begin to comprehend. While this path is not easy for you, I hope that you understand that by your courage you have taken a stand against generational sin so that it may not be repeated in generations to come. May God richly bless you with the "peace that passeth understanding" and may you find rest on His gentle breast!
I hate them, too, even after 2 1/2 years of dropping my kids off at "his" place.
Thank you so much for your blog. I feel like you know exactly what I am thinking and feeling
I know how hard it is to say good bye to your kids.
Some days my only consolation is that God knows too.
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