There’s silence. The silence between two old lovers with no words left between them, no common ground, a co-mingling of longing, anger, love and loss. A stale air.
We smile, we laugh, we talk of old things and new things. My heart warms at the sight of him with his daughters, his love so transparent, their adoration blinding. Every girl needs their Daddy.
I miss him.
Like a fucking freight train it hits me sometimes, the ache this brings. The sense that my arm is missing, that there’s a space filled. I miss their father, even if we have nothing to say and blindly grope for this new normal, saddened ourselves with what’s become of all of it. Or at least, I’m saddened. I cannot speak for him. I wish I knew that he missed it too. Perhaps then it wouldn’t hurt so much on the days that it does.
I am slowly adjusting to, and am gladdened by my space. The giddy sense that I and I alone make decisions-what I buy for food, what we have on the cable bill, the fucking toothpaste flavour. Iam slowly adjusting to being the only adult in the house, and finding I enjoy it, this power, this scary responsibility. I’ve never really been alone in the world, not like this.
But to see him with my children, to feel that old solidity in the house, that which I never truly appreciated before, this devotion I never saw. To suddenly understand how important it is to me, how vital this family thing really is, and to not have it….my heart crushed itself again into pieces, waiting a full day later to scream itself out.
I want to stop missing this. I want to move on, I want to find someone else, something else. I want to make my family work. I want to pretend it was never there.
What I want is to stop wanting any of it, and just breathe. Just, be.