Meandering

That he is gone for good.

That he left me for good.

That he is as though dead like mom and dad, gone forever

That someone can go from being my family for 25 years to not.

To someone who doesn't care if I live or die (and wouldn't mind the latter because it would make his life easier).

That I still have dreams about him, asking why...how can you leave.

I know he is gone. And that he has hooked up with a new woman, his "dream" woman who now gives him legitimacy again, identity.

And I have none from before, a castaway an imminent divorcee (still waiting, still married).

What do I feel?

Alone. Some difficulty in remembering sometimes that he is truly gone. I do confess to wondering if he dreams of me. To wondering how I am. To remembering our love.  To admitting to himself the pain he caused to me and feeling badly for it. To somehow figuring out a way to look God in the eye of his soul and admit his wrong. Does he ever think, I should not have put my hands on her? And if so, does he feel authentic regret?

I guess it does not matter to me anymore, in a practical sense.  He is gone. Gone forever. My mom and dad are gone forever.  My family from my childhood (he is included in a way because I was 21 when we became "as one"):  all gone.

So I wake up these days in my big empty bed which was once our bed, sometimes occupied by me and my little tiny girl, stretching her arms and legs out to the max, until I can barely fit.  Its sweet, but his spot still seems empty, like a visceral cutout in space.  The edges of the cutout have worn, the color of the missing air has become more cloudy, filled in with something else; an empty feeling still.  

My man boy is towering over me now, his voice deepening in alto crescendos of man boy silliness.  His teenager view is growing adult, jaded in someways yet sweet and caring.  I love him too.

And they love me.  They love their Dad too, want to, need to.  They don't tell me all, guard some of their fun with their dad partly to protect me, partly to protect their memories of when these moments feel good. They know his betrayal, which sickens me, but they know also that he treats them like someone who loves them, they need not know the interior battles over money. He won't pay for much needed tutoring, but he will take them to expensive restaurants every time he has them, everyday. He wont pay for the babysitter so I can work later twice a week, but he will buy them expensive gifts.  His lawyer negotiated that he does not have to pay for the someday drivers ed, or discretionary funds for my kids prom, or most damning of all, their college at a pro rata cost beyond that of a state school..so if our kids get into a good private school he wont have to potentially pay the $25k minimum EXTRA (in pro rata breakdown).  So he apparently holds no worries of their true needs for growth and happiness..but so he can have the right to say to himself, he has been a good dad (to himself, his woman, his family) he plays this game of money. 

He is a fake parent.  Or perhaps the truth, not a very good parent. And the sad thing, but real thing, is my kids know this, with little (albeit some) utterances of me.  I am not a robot, my hurt or looks of disdain does seep out on occasion. But thats okay, I think.  What does the cosmos say about that! Does it care?

Yet back to square one. I am alone. 

A developing adult embryo, sprouting new emotional limbs. Vulnerable to the max, searching for sustenance so I can survive. Blind but still working on intuition, growing a bit more everyday. I am forming, into a good thing, a kind thing that wants more in my life.   But the more can not be anything- I refuse to act desperate, even on those nights when I feel desperate.  I want more, you see.I guess I am living in my chrysalis at the moment, at least that is what I hope.  I hope for the beyond, the next and possibly authentic step for me.