Writing has always been my best way to make sense of myself and the world around me, so this entry will probably be a very rambling “Rambling.”  It’s no secret that losing my children is probably the deepest wound I carry, and that pain affects me in just about every aspect of my life.  Each time I see my sons, I have to relive that first separation, the day when I dropped them off with my ex-mother-in-law (a woman who still considers me her son and whom I still consider a second mom).  That day is the darkest and most painful moment of my life.  Every atom of every cell in every part of my being was screaming for me not to walk away from my children, and my heart literally felt as if it was going to explode through my sternum it was pounding so hard, despite the fact that I had taken a strong dose of Valium.  A part of my soul died that day, and only other people who have experienced something similar can relate to it.  Every time I have to leave my children now, I relive that day, and it messes me up for some time after.

The difficulty is that I need to see Collin and Finn as often as possible, not just for my well-being, but so that they will know in their hearts that their Daddy loves them and is there for them.  It’s truly a hellish situation, needing to see them but then enduring the separation again.  I try to deal with it, but the pain is like a tidal wave that washes over me and overwhelms everything else.  I wish I could simply choke it down and suppress the feeling, but it’s simply too enormous for that.  The short-term effect is that the way I’ve always dealt with my issues is to retreat into my shell, lick my wounds, and then re-emerge when I feel better.

I’m trying to deal with this issue.  I’ve gone to counseling, meditated about it, begged god to take it away, cried until my pillow was soaked, buried myself in physical labor, written about it, and pondered it a million times, but letting go of that pain and that moment eludes me.  There is not a second of my life that I don’t miss my children.  Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, terrified because I can’t see with my own eyes that they are safe and sound.  Sometimes, I’ll see good parenting out in public, and the sorrow of missing them drowns me.  Sometimes, I’ll see bad parenting and feel even more sorrow.  I try every single day to live my life in the here and now because that is the lesson I learned from my accident, but there is a part of me that is stuck on that day January 5, 2008 when a piece of my soul withered up and died.  I don’t know how to let go of that, but I know without a doubt that if I don’t find a way to move on, I will never be able to live my life fully, and I will never be a whole person capable of loving those around me the way they deserve to be loved.

So that’s my burden I need to resolve.  That’s the splinter in my heart that gnaws from the inside.  I don’t just want to heal from this; I have to, if I ever want to have any hope of finding peace and serenity in my life and of having a balanced, healthy relationship.