Monday mornings hit me really hard. That is the day I send my only child off to school and don’t get to see him until 54 hours later. That’s the rest of the day Monday, all day on Tuesday and mid-day on Wednesday. And then, if it’s not my weekend afterward, I only have him for 2 nights when once again on Friday morning I send him off to school not to see him again until Sunday afternoon. Luckily I get him back every Sunday night. That is the night I look forward to.
I’m sure many of us do not give birth to children only to get to be with them 1/2 of their childhoods. It kills me to share my son.
It kills me.
The psychopath left 8 years ago and every Monday and Friday (when I don’t have my son) is painful, sometimes less than others. The lump in my throat never goes away, that heavy emptiness makes each step a 100 extra pounds, making each movement slow and purposeful. Girl, take a deep breath until the dread goes away.
I should be excited, after all, I have 54 hours of freedom! Can’t I finally go shopping? Can’t I get the laundry completed and the floors washed and the dust bunnies out of the corners? Can’t I sip wine and lunch with the girls and run around naked (to my cat’s enmity)?
That’s not the case. I’d trade freedom and time for my son anytime. When he first had to spend nights away I never went home. I sat on married friends’ couches watching American Idol until eyelids drooped and friendly social cues pointed in the direction of their doors. In one home, I was given the pleasure of their guest bedroom and the security code to lock up in the morning as I headed into work.
Today I can’t breathe. Tears at bay, I suck it up and head to a work meeting. Across the table, another mother and I work on business projects, while I temporarily put the pain aside. When alone, my chest caves in, just as it did before the meeting. My son, he’s my baby and I can’t see him or be a part of his weekend activities. This goes against every maternal instinct I have.
Sometimes I spend the majority of my energy trying to get through these painful feelings. I am not as productive. Back in the day, I had a narcissist boyfriend who took my mind off things, whether it was because he was my sole comforter or because he hurt me too (in the ways only narcissists can) and my focus and pain overshadowed the pain of not being able to perform as a mother while my son was away. Now, thankfully, the narcissist is gone. The pain of not having my son here, albeit temporarily, can sometimes consume me, as it is today. I have the gift of writing however, a journal, a place to articulate (aka vomit) and organize my thoughts on how frickin’ awful it is to have married a man who betrayed me, who is most likely a psychopath, who is adored by so many (I think he has them all fooled) and to give birth to those feelings I never dealt with while I was dating said narcissist.
I miss my son. I want my son. It’s fall. There are so many beautiful things to see and do here in the midwest. He’s young. There is still much to share with him and teach him. He’s burgeoning. I don’t want to miss this brief time we have together.
My heart is breaking today. Not in a big way. I just HATE when my son goes to his dad’s and I get caught off guard when it’s this hard. 😟When will it be easier? Time will tell and if I find out the answer to that I will share with all of you.