I’ve wanted to smash everything. All day.
I’ve been on edge and angsty. Despite a lovely coffee break with friends this morning, I left feeling lonely, lost inside myself. Even when my husband bent to kiss me when he returned from running errands, I didn’t feel like I deserved kisses or love or the presence of everyone. I pushed him away; I tried to push myself away.
I listened to angry music in my office while I worked. That didn’t make it better. I listened to happy music. That didn’t make it better. I listened to sad music and then I cried.
Yesterday evening, I watched Booey inside the room that will be his classroom — his world for eight hours a day. He played happily with the puppets. He walked around the room. He found Froggy books. He talked to his teacher. He happily found an old friend, learned another firefighter kid will be in class as well. He’s oh-so-ready.
I am not.
I bit my lip as I confessed to his teacher that I was struggling more than I expected to; I mean, I’ve been through this already with BigBrother, so I should be a pro by now. She nodded, admitting that she’s having a rough season of transition as her son heads off to college this fall. I nodded, watching him play so happily.
I didn’t cry in public. We went out for ice cream with two happy boys, ready for the next stages of their lives.
I sniffled on my run, but choked back any real emotions because I’m brave and courageous and everything will be just fine. People tell me that all the time. “You’re so brave.”
Except I’m not very brave.
Or good at this. At all.
I’m going to miss my baby boy so much that my stomach physically hurts right now. And quite honestly, I am tired of missing my children. I feel the ache of missing so deeply, so keenly right now. The missing and the hurting and the worrying and the fear. All of this likely compounded by the length of time it has been since I last saw my daughter; all of this compounded by the fact that life is what it is, that it can’t be changed, that the reality of my mothering is grounded in loss, in missing.
“You’re so brave.”
No, I’m just a mom, doing what she has to do. And today, that involves crying and hurting for everything I miss.