Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Rituals of Loss
It has been four days since we dropped the boys off at their mom's house. It feels like weeks. Then sometimes it's like they were never here and that year and a half was just a chasm of time that I didn't really experience. I'm walking in this empty life that I didn't realize was so empty. I need meaning. They gave me that. Through all the frustration and irritation and learning the art of patience (or practicing and never quite getting there most of the time), I felt like I was doing some good. And even if it didn't have meaning, it filled the time. Now it's a gaping maw after work where I feel guilty while watching meaningless TV and sad when I shut it off because four days ago I would have been doing something of substance. Four days ago I was a mom. I felt like I would be an imposter to call myself that before, then I owned it, and now I have to discard it like it was false all along. I have cried every day in varying degrees. It has ebbed since I've been assured that I can take them this weekend. Every night before I go to bed I walk into their bedroom and picture them in their beds. I try to send some energy of love and calm and normalcy to them in their little room that's an hour away from me now. I picture myself being with them and making sure they're covered up, like I used to do every night before I went to bed myself. It sounds weird when I put it out into the world like that, but I'm maybe trying to think of it as a little prayer. I'm not going all religious nut here, but it seems right to send them some goodness into the universe and hope that they catch it. It makes me feel better anyway. I want to see their chubby little faces and squeeze them until they wiggle to get down, and watch them ride around the back yard on their bikes and fight the sprinklers with buckets, running around in their undies. I just feel really empty. I've always had a hard time filling my time. It's either balls to the walls crazy busy with school or family, or mega couch potato don't want to get up and move. I'm not a hobbyist. I'm not particularly interested in anything, except people and that requires interaction and when I start interacting I don't know how to hold a balance. Right now I just want to curl up somewhere and let the storm pass, but that's not how I manage life. So I'm walking into the flames and crying and sending little love prayers through the universe and whatever else weird shit I can think of to get to the other side of this loss.