Day By Day in One Day At a Time

It’s been about a month and a half since you left us. It’s nothing out of the ordinary since you’d typically go this long without contacting us or checking on the kids. I might get a text every couple weeks saying, ” Give the kids a kiss and tell them I love them!” I’d roll my eyes and close the text, doing nothing, because..after all…you could call them and tell them yourself if you really cared. That’s what I thought at the time. Why was I going to mention their dad only for them to start asking questions. Where was their dad? Why hadn’t they seen him? Why doesn’t he call them? I already get enough of those grueling questions that the moments without them were welcome. I wasn’t going to be the one to ignite those thoughts once again in my children’s heart and mind. No way. You were more than welcome to see them and talk to them anytime you pleased. You chose not to. And these texts weren’t enough.
Fast Forward to now.
You’re dead.
The pain of those words are all too real.
I wish I had told them now. I can’t take it back.
The crazy thing is, I don’t regret my feelings in that moment. I knew it was the right choice for my kids. I had no doubt and still don’t. But I wish, in this case, I would’ve went against what was healthy for them at the time. I should have went against my gut, even if it caused them pain in the moment. The painful reminder that my dad can text he loves me but that’s about all he’s capable of in this moment. Because the truth is…that IS all you were capable of in that moment. You were sick. So fucking sick. And even in those times of anguish, where you were choosing drugs over your family, you took that moment-a quick flash of reality- and knew your children needed to hear those words from you.
And I took that from you.
I know if I was sitting here, talking to the sober you, you’d lift me up with your words and tell me I did the right thing. You would always tell me that with such power and confidence. Like you knew you had children with the right person. I always doubted myself but you never doubted me. Even in the moments we’d fight about my decisions against your addiction, I could tell in your voice, you knew I was fighting the addiction and not you.
Because the truth is.
Nobody was more gentle with those children.
Nobody went above and beyond for them in any little situation like you did.
Nobody lit up their faces like you could.
You were everything to them
You were everything to me.
Your addiction took that from us. Like a demon who came and stole your soul.
You didn’t want to be that person. You told me over and over again, you didn’t want to be like your father.
Yet, here we are. You’re gone at 35 years old and I’m left with our 3 beautiful souls to raise with only memories of you.
It’s only been a month and a half. Still doesn’t feel real. I suppose it will at some point.
Until then I’ll pretend you are just out there… waiting to come home.