I am not perfect, I love without abandon
I am not perfect, I love without thought
I am not perfect, I cry without knowing why
I am not perfect, never will be and I don’t know why I try.
I can lasso the sun, and pull it in close
I can lasso my dreams, and hope they come true
I can lasso my thoughts, will they make sense
the only thing I cannot lasso is my heart.
I stare into the distance, I hope to make it better
I hope that you will love me as much as I love you
I know though that my thoughts and my feelings
They are but a dream.
We came to be without regard, we came to be because
You said to me that I was welcome to leave
But really what type of person does that make me?
To leave when the going gets tough?
I stayed because it was the right thing to do
I stayed because I could not go
You never said thank you, I understood
you only kept on taking.
I did what I did because I cared
I did what I did because that is what is right
Regrets and fears, love lost in tears
that is what my life is made of.
So despite my writing yesterday that I do my best to not let my son know about my depression, tears, etc when he leaves, I failed. Huge. Melt down about the pants situation. All the sweats (he does not like to wear jeans but his dad persists in buying them) I have purchased since moving out on my own have disappeared. Told my son I was sick and tired of purchasing items and having them disappear into the abyss.
Told him that if he came back next week without his sweats I was done and he would be wearing shorts to school. We have like 4′ of snow on the ground. Our average temperature is -10 to -15 Celsius before the windchill. We will probably drop to like -25 or lower. I am not a perfect mom.
So after I hollered at him, he is in his room with his best friend and I hear him say “This is why I don’t like going back and forth between my mom and my dad.” And my heart dropped.
He has no choices. He is 8. His father and me decide his week to week moves. But clothes, clothes he does have a choice on. He can decide his tee shirts or the style of pants he will wear. And I realize he is stealing his sweats because that is something he has control over. He can choose whether to wear sweats or jeans. And his choice is sweats.
So damn it really it is all my fault. This actually started out as a pity me…..can you believe that he is doing this…..to an epiphany. My son likes his comfort clothes, just like his mom. Really there is no reason for me to get upset.
I know that it is a bitch for him to have to go back and forth. And there are different rules at mom’s house as to the rules at dad’s house. Sooooooo I will let him steal the sweats that he has stolen and I will buy a few to replace them. In larger sizes and than hide them. He is 8. I am lucky if he showers twice a week and changes his clothes every other day. Just going to deal.
One of the hardest things I had to do in 2016 was going from seeing my son every day, hearing him tell me he loved me and giving me thousands of kisses, to seeing him every other week. That is the custody arrangement my ex and me have worked out. Week one with me, week two with dad, so on and so forth.
Today is the last day of my week with him. As I write this he is still sound asleep, sprawled across the bed all long gangly limbs and cherubic innocence. Not so innocent when awake but in the coma of sleep he is still my little baby. One might think that after 9 months of this that you might get use to it. But you never do. I cry every week. I start to miss him before he is gone. My home becomes silent and somehow less colorful.
I never let him see me like this. The overwhelming need to cry only occurs when he is, like now, asleep or otherwise occupied out of sight. I don’t let him know that my heart breaks when he goes out that door at 4 p.m. on Sunday. I don’t go into detail about how I will count down the hours until he returns in 7 days. I give him a hug and kiss, tell him I love him and will see him in a week. Than I go into the house and wonder what to do with myself now.
So I read. I spend a lot of time on Facebook. I text a lot. I work. But I don’t really live. My world is drab. There are no visions of sugarplums or fairies dancing in my head. There is depression. There is a need to self-medicate so it does not hurt so much. In doing that though one is lead down a bitter twisted road that ends only with more pain and conflict.
I am going to do something different this year. And no this is not a resolution. This is a need, a must, a chance for me to remake myself once more. To start with I am going to write more. Write more often? Just write. Writing is cathartic for me. It allows me to process my feelings and to work through the dark imagings that can arise.
I will live healthier. Eat better. When my son is here I cook meals and when he isn’t I eat whatever is on hand. I need to stop that. I need to nourish my body as well as my mind. I am going to drink less and learn to live with the silence that surrounds me. And I am going to be okay with it.
In doing so I will become a better version of me. A better mom, a better friend, a better lover.