5.7
March 15, 2018

Every Other Weekend.

 

OkayI think I’m catching on now.

Slow learner, in this regard.
I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but damn this sh*t is hard. 

Seems this is just what it will be.
I try to get it right.
I fantasize about all the things I’ll do:
Stay busy, clean and work all day, call friends, step out at night.

I’m going to organize my closet, and refold the stuff in drawers.
I’m going to finish all the laundry and catch up on their unfinished chores.
Clean up, wipe down, mow the lawn.
Answer emails, write thank you cards, return that looming phone call.
Reply to texts, pour a glass of red.
Sit down to TV, go eat with a friend.
Go shop at the store, the possibilities are endless.
I can wait for them to leave, but I can’t wait till I can do all this.

But then they leave, and they give me hugs and kisses.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize how much I miss them.
I watch them excitedly pull away with their dad.
I was excited all week—why now do I feel so, so…sad?

It is a crippling loneliness, and it paralyzes me.
It is visceral. It is prideful. It is fair, and it isn’t.

I’m grieving my family, my life, my decisions.
The divorce is the weapon but my kids leaving: ammunition.

I go inside and nurse my wounds.
That red? It still gets poured.
But everything else, everything else disappears.

~

Bonus: 5 Mindful Things to Do Each Morning.

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Author: Anya Bokeria
Image: Author’s own
Editor: Nicole Cameron
Copy Editor: Sara Kärpänen

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