October 24, 2011 § Leave a comment
I fall short.
I try to remember how her little hand felt in mine as we crossed the parking lot to the store with the puppy dog on the front. How much my heart leapt at that adorable description. What it was like to put her little bit too old and little bit too big body into the seat of the cart and push her around and make her feel special, like she was the only one in the world for me or anyone else. Why I was thinking about everything but those big, blue eyes putting all her trust in me, her smile, why I was stressed about dinner or something her mom said or how much our trip to the store would cost. Why I wouldn’t buy her gum. I try to remember these little things, and I fall short.
I try to remember something good. When he caught a fish with his dad and the hour of impatient waiting didn’t matter and only the fish and lunch (2 for $20 at Applebees) was the greatest afternoon he ever had. Or a million video games and me not wanting to play a minute. Or why I’d want to tell him “not tonight, no more stories” and tuck him into bed instead of reading until the sun came up, his head on my shoulder, laughing at Shel Silverstein’s rhymes. I try to remember the good, and I fall short.
I try to believe that this is for the best. That they will be thankful for the reprieve, for the space, for the longer time with us (longer in between though it may be). That we will be steady and unwavering and they will remember that. I try to believe we will come out better, but I fall short.
I try to be brave. To put them from my mind the 6 days of the week that I don’t hear their voices, and on the 7th, too, when she’s failed us again. I try not to fail them, to be everything they could need from me. To never show weakness, or sadness, or anger, or anything in between, but I fall short every time.
I try to let go. To go back to the life we had before. To un-fall in love.
I fall short. Again.