Sundays

Sunday is one of my favorite days. For as long as I can remember Sunday has always been one of the best days of the week. The pace is slow, and during football season when the lawn no longer requires as much attention it becomes a day of distraction and a reason to be a little more sedate. It still is one of my best days of the week, but here lately every other Sunday has a little sting to it. It has a bittersweet air that causes me to reflect a little more than necessary.

   The children go back to their mother today and the house and life we once shared. Now I feel like an outsider in their lives, allowed only the occasional glimpse as they grow and learn and change so fast. I treasure every moment with them and at the same time I am constantly reminded of the change we have to deal with. They are troopers and are trying their best to adapt and put the best spin on this that they can, but no matter how you slice it we are all getting shortchanged. Don’t get me wrong, I am not pointing fingers or trying to lay blame at someone’s feet. There is plenty of that to go around and now it no longer matters.

    All that matters now is the children. All I can do is love them like only a father can and let them know as much as possible that everything will be alright. We will get through this, and we will grow and live and enjoy every second together. But it will never be the same. Holidays now have the 800 pound gorilla in the room. Schedules have to be maximized to enjoy the time together and still maintain contact with the rest of their extended family of cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents.

   This is the most difficult part of the whole situation. This is where I struggle the most, and this is the one subject that the mere mention of rips out my heart. This is pain that never goes away, and probably never will. Lost days, hours, minutes and seconds that can never be recovered bring me to my knees crying for relief, forgiveness, and deliverance. I have to be strong and I have to accept this for what it is and do more than I ever imagined letting them know they are loved and that I will always be their father. I have to make them know that everything will be alright and dad will always be here to make things right, to hold them when they need it and hug and kiss them when it will embarrass them the most. They have to know that the only thing that has changed is where I live and they are as much a part of my life as they always have been. I have to convince myself of the same things and as the Bard said “…there’s the rub”. Because for me the pain is endless and that is a wound that will never heal. I will carry it with me everywhere as I start over, over 50.