There haven’t been many high points the last five months. I’ve cried. I’ve been in shock. I’ve had bouts of paranoia. I haven’t slept well. I’ve slept too much. I’ve been angrier than I ever have, and sadder than I thought was possible. I’ve wanted to kill her. And I’ve wanted to kill me.
But there have been a few saving graces, and my children are one of them.
Much of December and January are a blur, but one date stands out: January 4th. That’s the night we told our three children we were getting divorced. The details of that night will be a separate post, but this is about a few days afterwards.
They knew I was moving out, and they (at least my eldest) knew that money was tight. One night I came home from work and found a ziploc bag of change on my nightstand labeled “$5.00 for your house”. I immediately teared up.
I don’t remember if I ever said anything about it. I don’t know if I needed to. But I do know that it’s in my nightstand and that it will never be spent.
My children have seen sides of me in the last few months that they never have before. They don’t know all the details of what’s going on, but they know that Daddy is frustrated and sad – so they do everything they can to help out and make me smile.
Today, to be divorced means to be grateful for my children – the only part of my old life that I want to remember. They’re the best.