In the noise and chaos of dealing with too many balls in the air, I'm not overburdened with opportunities to think. Between the kids, work and animals, usually any chance that I might slow down and string two coherent thoughts together about how I feel and where am I going in life are interrupted because a ball or two is about to go SPLAT! Quick, catch the ball! What was I thinking about? I forgot.
Suddenly Sunday night arrives and the kids are off to their dad's. I'll see them after school four out of the next five days, which helps, but its evening, and then its morning, and holy crap, its dark out. Fall arrived and I was so busy avoiding thinking about it that it I almost didn't notice it happening. Lets just say now would not be a good time to run out of Wellbutrin.
I have reason to believe that this winter will be better than last winter, which was better than the winter before. That two-year-old winter, just post-separation, was fucking brutal. The kids were fighting our family's circumstances with every fiber of their beings, I was facing nights where my kids were not with me and I had not yet done the work I needed to do to accept that pain as a part of my life. It was dark, I was alone, and even though I was finally free of living within an angry and shattered marriage, I was not used to being alone. I made it through, by the skin of my teeth it seemed sometimes, and by the time the next winter came around, I was doing better. I was making progess in my personal psychological and spiritual practice. I was finally comfortable with being alone, with periods of quiet contemplation. I had things to do and friends to enjoy when I needed some time around other people. I met SG, and for the most part, the rest of the winter seemed effortless. I was happy, mostly. The depression was there, of course, it always is, but it crouched inside its little mouse-hole, barely poking its nose out to sniff the air. Occasionally it would skitter across the floor, only to be vaporized into black smoke by the shining bright light of my happiness.
This year things are somewhat different. I'm with someone, and yet I'm alone. It's hard, its a struggle, and let me tell you that every minor relationship issue feels greatly exacerbated when you can't see the other person's face when you're hashing things out. So its both OK and not OK at the same time - and right there I am reminded of the twofold nature that I try so hard to embrace. Life includes both joy and pain, and so this is just a natural part of being human.
The other thing that changed is that my ex and I changed our parenting schedule. We went to every other week, a situation I wasn't entirely happy with but agreed to because it was pitched so reasonably. I have a friend that's a judge. He says most parenting plans are like this and they don't like complicated parenting plans when you go to court. And really, it makes more sense to limit that number of transitions they have to deal with, especially with our mixed bag of mental health issues. It took a while, though, before I realized the real reason for it. (When I figured out that our parenting schedule matches his girlfriend's parenting schedule and they are both surprise! kid-free on the same weeks, I had to draw a little +1 in his column in the imaginary scorecard I keep in my head. Touche. Nicely played. Asshole.) So before, the last the longest my kids slept somewhere other than my house was two nights in a row. Its not all that bad, considering. On the weeks they are with their dad I still pick them up after school until he gets off work. I still get to be involved in dinner and homework and all the chaos and noise four evenings on the off week. It helps tremendously.
Sunday afternoons are special. I savor those last few hours with them, even if we're doing mundane things. Yesterday we went up to Michelle's and spent horse time. The drive is a little over a half hour.
As we drove home, the light was beginning to thin. My daughter laid her head on my shoulder, and grabbed my free arm to wrap it around my shoulders. I hugged her, ruffled her hair, touched her soft cheek with my fingers.
There are moments in time when loving my kids is both the sweetest and most painful thing imaginable. I am awestruck once again by how incredibly fortunate I am to have these mysterious and quicksilver beings in my life. I love them completely and without limit, and I know that our time is precious because it will too soon be less available. They are with me for but a brief span of their lives, and they will drift further and further away from me as they learn how to be independent people. They will still be mine, in my heart of hearts, but more than that, they are their own. So I hold my daughter's hand in the car for as long as she will let me, squeezing it gently, savoring the sensation of her fingers entwined and our palms - hers soft and warm, mine calloused and hard - pressing together.
These are the moments I pull from my memory banks to hang on to when the night is dark. They are the bright light that chases away the shadow.
This winter will be better.
