Ouch, my heart

It’s as if my little Beach Rose had been in danger for the last 3 days and we’ve finally gotten her to safety.  Now I can breathe.  Now I can relax.  Now life is worth living again and there’s meaning and I’m interested in it.

Because the last three days have been a living hell.  My whole body has ached to hold her.  My heart’s been in shambles.  The tears haven’t stopped streaming down my face.  The hurt has been giant.  The feeling of loss and depression surprising and crippling.

Sure, I have time again.  Time for myself.  Time to be selfish.  Head to the beach with just my chair & a book.  How long has it been since I’ve been able to sit & read quietly with the backdrop of waves crashing?  Time to shop.  When was the last time I was able to spend a day at the outlets?  Time to clean, thoroughly clean, the house.  Date of last window wash?  Can’t remember.  That she can draw her name with her finger on most of them, and I can see it, is not the best sign.  Maybe I can focus on a stronger exercise routine.  Hang out with friends.  Family, even.  Cook.  Bake.  Quilt.  Garden.

Who cares?

None of that matters.  None of it.  I’d rather live in a messy house, with barely a stolen hour of time to myself every other month, wearing the same clothes from 5 years ago, without the svelt body of someone who exercises lots, and with no social life or hobbies, than have to spend this much time apart.

Is it really necessary?  It wasn’t this way when I was young.  The days were not as long.  I’ve thought about alternatives…maybe I can keep her with me, maybe somewhere else would offer shorter days, maybe I can go backwards in time till I reach this point again & then go back in time, ad infinitum…

And now I have 4 days of normalcy.  Of her in my arms.  Of her safe at home.  Of holding, squeezing, kissing, loving, loving, loving…until I lose her again…and then what????  Now what???

And for what?  Is this worthwhile?  Does she need to be doing this?  Would she be alright if I kept her with me for a while longer?

Or do all of these thoughts and feelings point to the obvious fact that this is MY issue, not hers.  And that I need to be the unselfish parent, and encourage and promote and cheer…

as she walks back into her kindergarten class on Tuesday?


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