Its been since July.
I haven't written a smidge since July. Not because I had nothing to say, but because I had hoped that what I did have to say would go away. I hoped that what was on my mind would change. I hoped that what our lives had become would suddenly remedy itself and we could just be The Family Pants again. But life doesn't always work out that way, does it? As much as I'd like to provide a fairy tale family for my small humans - none of us have the luxury of a Photoshop-ed life.
Life is a strange and kind of a messed up little jerk sometimes.
For us that means that no matter how hard we tried, we could not make it what we wanted. I could not wish hard enough for something that involves more people than I and love and intention and maintain total control.
I don't have that kind of power. None of us do.
Damn, I wish I did.
Because if I did, I would not be telling you right now that Brandon and I are divorcing. I wouldn't be telling you that just 1 week and 4 days ago we told our children that life as they have known it is changing forever. And I wouldn't be sputtering into the interwebs in a stream of consciousness trying to figure it all out as I type.
"Its been 7 days since the worst day"
That's what my boy said to me as he drifted off to sleep a few nights ago. It hit like a sucker punch. He said it in the breathy exhale you have when you are trying to have conversation while kind of drunk and ready to pass out. He was out like a light in just a few minutes after he said it. "Its been 7 days since the worst day"
I froze. My arms acted immediately and instinctively. They drew him in for the most tight of all the hugs. The kind of hugs his sensory body reads the best. And all I could say in the saddest, most pathetic, hole in throat-like squeaking was ... "I know, babe. I know"
The night came hard and I found myself still awake and staring at them hours after they had drifted off and grateful that they were deep in the arms of dreaming respite. I wondered what they were dreaming about. My head a pool of numbers and dates and memories. I begged the universe to give them delicious and silly and adventurous dreams.
I watched them. My mind running rampant. Planning. Hoping. Loving. Beating back the tears that made a desperate push forward because there was no time for that shit right now.
And as I jumped randomly between events and obligations and HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO THIS, I simply looked at the faces of my sleeping children and I knew in my bones that we made the right choice.
They cannot understand it yet and they shouldn't have to.
This is going to be hard. It's going to so damn hard.
But we will be better than OK. We will be happy again.
All four of us.