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The Writing Mother

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Friday, April 08, 2005
I Miss Him

I remember back when I was a new mom. I had this ferver of mom-ness about me. I loved my son and wanted to be with him always. He was the new me. I breathed his breath and I cried his tears. There were nights I could not sleep unless he was next to me. I cannot explain to someone who doesn't have children what that is like.

There was a completedness that I felt. As if everything in my life had come full circle.

Other things in my life were not nearly as satisfactory and somewhere around a year and a half I became a single mom. Sometimes things were tougher than I could handle and I blanched at my own need to sometimes be alone. I craved some time to myself to deal with self issues. To cry my own tears. Luckily I got that opportunity every once in a while when my mom would take my son for a few hours. I was still unable to sleep without him near, if only in the next room.

I remember vividly the first night he stayed at his dad's house. I hardly slept. I felt as though the house had been emptied of everything good. I didn't even want to stay in it; but I did. Now I'm more used to the idea of him staying at Grammas or at his dad's.

Used to it. But still not good with it.

I like it for a few minutes. A few moments of time where I can pick up all clothes and half eaten toast carcasses and Ninja Turtles without finding a mess where I just was. Then suddenly it's all clean. And I'm a mess.

Tonight is no different than last night. I have some writing to do, I've cleaned the house a bit, I've had a tea. The only difference is that he is not sleeping in his bed tonight. He's not here. And for whatever reason, I feel lost. I feel incomplete. I feel like I'm missing an organ - the one responsible for feeling and hope.

Every day is like opening a present. That's why it's called the present. You've heard that one before, right? Someone deeper than me said it. But each day I think of what I can learn from my son, what I can see him do that he didn't do before. Today he mastered 'sure'. As in, "that motorcycle was sure going fast, mommy!" and "I sure like my Mr. Increb-i-bles movie!"

But at the end of the day, when he is not here, I feel as thought that present has been wasted. I feel as though it's been given away to someone else.

And I miss him.
  The Writing Mother
  posted at 9:56 PM


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