It was last Monday that it truly hit. The recognition that I was going to be seeing my children for half of their childhood since divorcing. My kitchen clock showed 3.15pm, their school pick-up time. A wash of sadness came over me as I thought about them bundling out of school without me to scoop them up. I just couldn’t hold it in and sat there sobbing at the punctuation points of their primary school day that I would no longer be a party to.
Sure, their Dad would be there. But I wondered what stories they had to regale about The Nativity (my eldest is Mary, my youngest ‘second star’); I wondered what snacks they’d instantly asked for and I wondered what I would miss out on today. Like every day I’m not with them in this hinterland of trying to find happiness for myself while balancing what my family needs from us.
The separation anxiety through irretrievable breakdown is real. And it’s something I was woefully unprepared for. It’s that feeling of leaving your baby at nursery for the first time to head back to work. That dull ache in my heart, the tears prickling eyes, their arms outreached as I walked away from the small human who has been attached to me since birth.
Being apart from my children for a weekend here or there can offer welcome respite from the onslaught of 24/7 parenting. But being separated from them for two weeks every month is where I’ve lost out on significant junctures like lost teeth, new best friends, spelling test accolades and everything in between.
While I pine for them when I’m away, Matt is always there to FaceTime when it gets too much. Seeing their gap-toothed smiles telling me some nonsensical story might not be the same via a screen as in real life – but it vaguely patches over those missed moments. Both of us are good at pre-empting what might hurt the other to miss out on, too.
Last week the tooth fairy had two gnashers to navigate and I got a call before the school run to fill me in on the £4 that had landed under my youngest’s pillow. The week before I called Matt for my eldest to let him know she was Star Of The Week. Hanging up on that exuberance does sting because all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around them and soak up their Year 2 excitement. But I hung up and sat in the silence of a life I constantly question.
But that’s the peace I’ve had to make in a post-divorce world. There will be so much I will miss out on but equally there will be so much to gain personally. Space and time has been a healer for me after years of wrangling the breakdown of a 17-year marriage. Having the time to grieve my relationship and establish what I want and where I want to go has left me less resentful, less snappy, less child-ravaged, perhaps.