“Saylor, could you please pick up the DVD’s off the floor, so Gypsy doesn’t eat them while we are gone today?” I ask my three year old as I put her little brother in his car seat.
“Sure” she agrees, “This is yours and Daddy’s movie. You guys will watch it when he comes home again” she casually continues not knowing she is stomping on my heart with every word she speaks.
“Why do you think he is coming back here to live, baby girl?” I ask.
“Because he told me he is.” She continues, while we put on her boots.
I picked my not so baby girl up, and brought her over to the couch with me. This is the part of parenting that no book could have prepared me for. With a heavy heart I told my innocent child that Daddy is not coming home. He isn’t coming home now, in a few weeks, or in a couple of months. Daddy isn’t coming home. “Daddy wants to come home” she said over and over between her tears. All I could do was hold her, and try my best to fight my own tears from falling.
The entire ride to daycare my blood was boiling. I held it together long enough to bring my kids inside and kiss them both good-bye, but I didn’t even make it to my car before I caved. Remember how I said the pain comes in waves? Well today I’m drowning. I didn’t ask for this. Today, I don’t want to be super woman. Today, I want to lay in bed with Ben and Jerry’s and watch a full season of Greys.
Instead, I’m sitting in the parking garage at work writing this. I’ll listen to one more Tom Petty song and then I’m going to make this day mine.
I’ve got this.