It was another Saturday night without my daughter.
In the past, weekends without her were torture.
In truth, the silence in the house is still hard almost two years later. Walking by her empty room? It still feels unfair. Missing out on taking her to dance class? It feels like I’m being a disobedient mother. I should be there– it’s my role, my job.
But from the start, weekends without her felt like not only a test of my heart by being “still” enough to notice she wasn’t around (during weeknights if she’s not here, at least I get home so late from work that I can ignore her absence) but it also felt as if a big blaring horn were going off announcing:
“It’s another weekend and Laura is still single, after her divorce. It’s another Saturday night and Laura is not going out on a date this time.”
Since my ex and I decided to separate, my weekends without my daughter have always been full but there was always this underlying tension blaring, “Will there be a date this weekend, or not?”
On My Own, Happily,