In two

    I had a bit of a meltdown yesterday. After Jack was dropped off, after the shoes were removed and snacks were had, after the crayons were dumped on the floor and the cars and helicopters were found- I had a meltdown. It was small but it hurt the way some realizations that manage to find the bruises in your heart that remain just below the surface, unseen to the human eye, hurt. Jack is a child of divorce.

    Jack is a child who sees one parent and not the other, some times and other times. He is growing in an environment that was once demolished and is being reconstructed. And he is beautiful. And smart. And intuitive and kind. And I only see him half of the time. When I find a new characteristic, when a new mannerism emerges that wasn't there before, that I wasn't present for when it was discovered, I can't help but feel defeated at times. At time. Time, It, who is incredibly unforgiving.

   Watching your child grow up is bittersweet in and of itself. Cutting that time in half is a pill that is harder to swallow. Yesterday that pill got caught in my throat, again.

   I don't want him to be lonely. I don't want him to think that because I'm not there physically sometimes, that I care less.

 I miss him before he leaves up until he comes back. Depending on the serotonin levels in my brain I either leave his toys out to remind myself that he's coming back to pick them up again, or I put them away immediately so that I don't come across them in moments of melancholy. In the back of my head there is this reoccurring thought, or maybe plea, that One Day things will change. One Day I'll wake up  in the same house with him there, every day. One Day things will be Normal again.

In the meantime I try and soak up the time he's here. I stare at him more when he isn't looking, committing every hair and freckle to memory before it changes again. I drink up the "moms" that come out of his mouth like it's a protein my soul is deprived of. And when he leaves I put my sails back up and tread water until that lighthouse turns back on again, when crayons are dumped on the floor and stories are read at bedtime.