Tell Me When September Ends

I look forward to it, October 1st. I can hardly wait for it to get here, so I can think about a month other than September.

This weekend will mark four years since Ex died. Today I felt so disappointed and angry all over again.

I’m disappointed that he exited this world. And I’m mad. And sad.

The one wish that Little Guy makes is the one that no one can make come true: I cannot make his dad come back to life. And I don’t like having to explain that, disappointing him. I don’t like that my SuperMom powers can’t make that miracle happen.

I have realized that the idea of Heaven comforts Little Guy, even though it’s not something I believe in. He can believe in it all he wants. In my opinion, people thought up Heaven to comfort those still living. My “life is eternal energy, which does not necessarily stay together as one person because it is all one” belief does not make him feel better. I can’t blame him.

I won’t bring any of this up with Little Guy. He has asked me when his dad died, but I don’t know that he remembers. I would rather he remember all the good things and forget, forget, forget the day he died. So far, it hasn’t happened, the forgetting. I should accept that and move on. Move forward, right? Always move forward. Yes.

On top of these feelings, I feel like I keep doing laps in the pool of disappointment that my last relationship ended, no, not ended, changed. We still have a relationship. It’s just different, and nothing like I expected it to change into. None of my friends did either.  They have all been surprised to hear that we broke up.  They thought we had “it,” the magic to stay together for a lifetime as intended.  Maybe my expectations got caught too far in what could be instead of what was and what is.

I am not completely disappointed. I still view the change in my relationship (and the loss of Ex) as a blessing. It wouldn’t be so bad, except my emotions run high in all ways, sad, happy, disappointed, proud, confident, insecure, content, impatient, and exhausted by the end of it.

I’d like to revisit the idea of lying on the floor,
to think about nothing,
to say nothing,
to hear nothing
except the hum of the fridge,
the soft snoring of my child,
the soft steps of my cat
approaching me to find out
why his human is lying on the floor.

Yeah, I want to do that. Call me when September ends. We’ll do lunch.

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