I eagerly awaited Carter’s stability for a long, long time.
I didn’t romanticize it; didn’t expect to shit rainbows or to find money raining in through the chimney. I accepted a long time ago that life with Carter is going to be difficult, even at its best.
No, I wasn’t full of overly-sunny expectations, but I never could have anticipated how completely I would fall apart. Really, I’m at the emotional place where I’m damn proud of myself on any day when I manage to brush my teeth and refrain from watching more than ten hours of TV.
I have not left the blogging world forever, but these days I can’t write (or even think) about anything or anyone but Jacob and Abbie and their absence. The pain is overwhelming and I can’t see over it.
My eyes are swollen and my face is tired. I don’t know how to live with this drum-beat at the back of my head that says, “My children don’t want me. My children don’t want me. My children don’t want me…”
On and on it goes, starting at guilt then cycling through shame, fear, anger, pain, loneliness, and back to guilt. Regret is just this terrible, poisonous horror that won’t leave me alone. In moments when my guard is down, I start to problem-solve, trying to find ways out of the pain, ways to fix everything and make it better. Then I remember there isn’t a way out; there’s nothing to do but keep letting my kids know that I’m here and I love them.
And me? I have to learn to live with this. My identity has to, somehow, include, “mother who did not finish raising her children,” and “mother whose kids don’t want to talk to her.”
I will learn to live with their absence. I will, because Carter and Brian want me around and that will keep me going until I can see the sun again.
In the meantime, please don’t forget about me. I’ll be back. Somehow, I’ll find a way to climb down off this stupid cross.
Damn, I wish I still smoked.