We have just two weeks left, living in the same house together full-time. So far, I’ve done a good job of suppressing any feelings of loss that I will undoubtedly experience later. I have, for a very long time, this very thing for so many aspects of my life. I feel as though I owe you some sort of explanation, because you’re so young and full of an incredible amount of joy, but yet there will be things you do not understand which will be taking place soon. I also understand that you are far too young to comprehend what I would say to you anyway.
Knowing vs. Acting
Your mother and I separated 9 months ago. We continued to stay in the same house over this time because it suited financial interests, as well as being time that we could maintain our familial roles. We want so desperately for you to remember a glimpse of the times we were together with you, but we also didn’t want to make the separation difficult for you. If there is something that will always be certain, it’s knowing your decisions may seem right at the time, but may not prove to have been correct. Only time will tell what happens next, and I sincerely hope you’ll come to love us both, and know us as individuals and your parents.
I am going to have a hard time soon. There will be a moment when all of this preparation and build up becomes a singular moment, but that has not happened yet. I am going to feel remorse and hatred and anger and bitterness and confusion and depression; but the moment has yet to come to me. I am still suppressing.
I sang to you tonight before bed, like most nights, but I switched the tune. I sang “I Can See Clearly Now.” It was bittersweet. Part of me knows that there is a great life for all of us ahead. I also know that great part is coming to a close; we’ve reached the threshold of our Event Horizon, in a sense, and the great expanse beyond is uncharted. I won’t get to sing to you every night anymore before bed. I won’t get to cradle you to sleep when you wake up scared or sick. While the last two years have been taxing in some regards, I’ve grown so close to you. You are, in every sense, the love of my life.
Focus on the Dust
So the time will come when things succumb to the inevitable destruction of part of our connection. But there will be remnants that we can grasp as the dust settles. In this instance, the dust is just as precious as what remains alive and well. I want you to try your best to remember these times when life was more simple, when you had one bed, one set of toys, one bathroom, one drawer for Nutri-Grain Bars (which are full of sugar and shit, but you love the fuck out of them, so whatever). Bring it into you, and focus on the dust; there is so much love for you there.
We’re going to be great, you and I. There will be rain clouds, but they will fall away and we will sing about it. We’ll remember these moments with fondness and look forward to the future when life gets easy, because it must get easier. I am certain of it.
Your mother and I love you desperately—we will just have to be okay with sharing and loving you from different addresses. We have our own dust that needs some attention as well.