At the end of this week, I will have to send two of my kiddos back for the up coming school year. They are older now, and they know the life that they are returning to. Sometimes, when you know what's coming it makes the days preceding departure harder.
I feel for my children. I ache for them. I grew up in a typical two parent family. My parents didn't get divorced, we had what could be described as a typical family. My mother's death has brought about this shift. It is as if she was this veil that covered the family. She bound us together and kept the moving parts moving. Now that she's not here, some of the parts have stopped moving and the filter through which we as family viewed each other, well, it has been torn away. In much the same way, I now see my family in a new light, my children see their parents as they truly are. In some respects it is hard to watch the revelation come. It is difficult to see the naiveté give way to realism.
This summer has been one of revelation for my two of my children. They have seen the true colors of their parents come out. Whereas in the in the past few years we have both put on a show so that we seemed to be the well adjusted divorced individual. In the past few months, that thin veil of deceit got ripped to shreds. The hatred, anger and resentment that roiled just beneath the surface could not be held back anymore and it came roaring to the surface. The heat and force of it melted the veil. This summer my children learned that some choices have life long consequences. They learned there is a thin line between love and hate. They saw firsthand what the all consuming need to win at all cost can do to people.
I told my babies that I was sorry. I was sorry for the innocence lost. I was sorry that they had to see what hatred was capable of doing. I also told them that I was not sorry that they were here. No matter how ugly the fight became, no matter how much work he has done to devastate my life, I am not sorry that I have my children. In writing this, I wonder if that is selfish on my part. Having my children means that they had to experience loss in their young lives.
They have been very clingy in the last few days. I know why and it is giving me anxiety. The ex-husband has won this fight by illegal means. To prove it would take resources I just don't have. Consequently, we all have to learn to live with what he has done. We have to live with the fact that I can't fight back anymore. In effect he has won the battle. This knowledge is not new to me. I have carried the weight of this for six weeks now. You see, while I was in Illinois caring for my dying mother, the ex-husband out maneuvered me by some illegal and deceptive means and won at this game called custody. So this means that for another academic year, the kids will live elsewhere.
Those well meaning misunderstanding people on the periphery of my life will say things like, "well you still get to see the kids regularly..." or, "...at least your kids are alive..." another favorite, "...this is God's will...", "...he does have more money so they have a great life..." There is a reason these people are on the periphery of my life. At the moment, I can't take those platitudes. I understand that they are attempting, albeit badly, at being hopeful and comforting. Nothing anyone says is going to soothe the hurt of the kids departure. I would be better equipped for their departure if he would spend time with them. If he actually parented them. But the reality is. to him the kids are just pawns in an ugly fight that he had to have.
I wish I could print this post out and hand it to people when they say weird things to me. I want to be understood, but at times I don't care that I'm not. I am so raw right now. The ground beneath me feels slippery and resembles sinking sand. I don't have the energy to care about much of anything beyond what I am dealing with. I have lost "friends" because of this, and I will probably lose some more. That's really ok. Right now I'm just trying to help my family prepare for and deal with what we know is coming.
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