fifteen

I haven't been writing here much.  It's not that I don't want to, it's just that single parenting is sometimes kicking my ass.  Seriously, if you have in your circle (even your wide circle) a person who is parenting alone do something wonderful for them.  Stop by and wash their dishes, cook them a meal, transport their kids, rub their feet, buy them a massage, babysit!  I know it helps because my amazing circle does this for me, and still I flounder into bed at night.  Exhausted.  I'm not complaining or soap boxing, I'm merely pointing out that if you have never single parented, you haven't got a clue about what it takes.  Try coming home to the house after a day of school and work and not only is there not another adult to talk to, there is no one but you (and a couple of kids to heckle) to wash the morning breakfast dishes, make dinner, wash the dinner dishes, make lunches, help the kids with music practice and homework, return phone calls, feed the animals, ignore phone calls, remember to pay a bill, take the recycling to the barn (in the dark), remember that you forgot to make an appointment for the car or the dentist or the electrician who needs to fix the burner on the stove that won't light, and oh yeah, when was the last time you showered?  Or try waking up on a Saturday and knowing that the day stretches ahead of you with not much to look forward to but catching up on all the things you didn't get done during the week, and running kids to play dates, and picking them up again, and if you are lucky folding into the couch at 7:00 pm to watch Captain Underpants (again).  

And I don't even have to worry about money, or custody, or safety or a job, or enough food, and even though my husband is dead, he loved me like hell and nothing will ever take that away.  So, even though this is shitty hard, it's not as hard as it gets.  

Whoa. Really, just do something nice for your single parent friends.

Today is our 15th wedding anniversary.  Sometimes I'm really pissed that we won't get 20, or 30 or hell, 50 or 60 like some really lucky people do.  There is no question that if he hadn't died, we'd still be going strong, on our way to 55 (I'd be 86, he'd be 84). We dreamed of that, but not very often because we were good at living each day. Loving each other fully and more with each passing moment. Incredibly I don't feel cheated, as maybe I should.  Yes, I would give anything for more time with him, but what we had was so complete, so brimming with uncomplicated love and respect that it's enough.  Improbably enough.  

Today the sun rose violet in the east, and autumn comes to his spot on the hill.  Change is inevitable.  I'm learning to let go.  I can love him as much now as I did 15 years ago, maybe more.  

October 25, 2013