Sorry, sorry, I know - I've been lax in posting recently. In my defense, it's the school holidays here, and there's an abundance of apprentice grown-ups in my life - so I've been very busy.
I've spent the majority of the last two weeks spending time with other people's children. Children I love. Children who hold significance in my heart. It's been difficult, and I'm still recovering. I've learned you can't short-change children.
Another thing I've learned is the cost. I love these heart children, everything about them, from the littlest at only a few months old, to the group about to hit puberty - they salve a part of me that still bleeds. The hole left by my own boys. The boys I allowed to close me out. The boys I miss every day. I've become very good at not actively thinking about them. I try not to actively wonder about what they're doing, or how they're developing - while refusing to let them fade from thought.
This last couple of weeks has shown me how precarious my balance is. Walking a tightrope is tough, particularly when you lose your center, and have to start from the beginning.
Ignoring a bleeding wound isn't the same as healing it. I could begin letting the wound close I suppose - but that would mean no longer holding out hope for reconciliation - and that, I refuse to do. I have to go on, every day, with the knowledge that my children rejected me. I have to keep breathing when it feels like a tank is parked on my chest. I have to hold on for a 'one day' that may never come.
The end of the tightrope is beyond my vision, my safety net prevents death, not pain, and my balance is rubbish. I fall off a lot. Some days I don't move forward at all, I'm too busy not falling. Others I stay where I fell and cry a lot.
I don't regret the time spent with other children of my heart. I love them dearly. They are the hearth fire of other families though, and my own is cold ashes.
Derri.
I've spent the majority of the last two weeks spending time with other people's children. Children I love. Children who hold significance in my heart. It's been difficult, and I'm still recovering. I've learned you can't short-change children.
Another thing I've learned is the cost. I love these heart children, everything about them, from the littlest at only a few months old, to the group about to hit puberty - they salve a part of me that still bleeds. The hole left by my own boys. The boys I allowed to close me out. The boys I miss every day. I've become very good at not actively thinking about them. I try not to actively wonder about what they're doing, or how they're developing - while refusing to let them fade from thought.
This last couple of weeks has shown me how precarious my balance is. Walking a tightrope is tough, particularly when you lose your center, and have to start from the beginning.
Ignoring a bleeding wound isn't the same as healing it. I could begin letting the wound close I suppose - but that would mean no longer holding out hope for reconciliation - and that, I refuse to do. I have to go on, every day, with the knowledge that my children rejected me. I have to keep breathing when it feels like a tank is parked on my chest. I have to hold on for a 'one day' that may never come.
The end of the tightrope is beyond my vision, my safety net prevents death, not pain, and my balance is rubbish. I fall off a lot. Some days I don't move forward at all, I'm too busy not falling. Others I stay where I fell and cry a lot.
I don't regret the time spent with other children of my heart. I love them dearly. They are the hearth fire of other families though, and my own is cold ashes.
Derri.
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