Missing Half a Life

When my daughter was born, it was one of the best days of my life.  I held her in my arms and spent every waking hour just drinking her in.  Her smell, her sounds, her precious little face...it was all heavenly.  I would often find myself day dreaming about the things we would do, the places we would go, all of it of course hand in hand. 

Those dreams changed when I left her father (It was not a situation where I could have stayed).  She was only five months old and as the courts put it, it was no longer the times of "every other weekend".  If a father was deemed fit, and wanted to be a major part of their childs' life, he would get to share physical custody.  For those of you who haven't been through are arduous and gut wrenching process that is Family Court, shared physical custody meant that I would have her literally fifty percent of the time. 

I came from a split parent home, so I thought I had an idea of what things might be like.  That was not the case.  I knew what it was like from a childs' point of view to go from one household to the other.  After a time it just becomes normal.  But from a parents' point of view, I was completely ill-equipped.  Shattered, distraught, irrevocably heart broken, these were only a few of the momentous amount of emotions coursing through me.   I had to go from being with my daughter every moment, to going two or three days at a time with out seeing her.  Every day apart was like breathing without air, moving without limbs, like the very core of my being had been cut out and placed on a shelf just out of reach.  I would go through the motions of the day and then cry myself to sleep.

As the months went on I was able to shut off some of these emotions, to ignore them, bury them, place my efforts elsewhere. What ever it took to dull the ache. When I was with her, I tried to cherish every moment.  I would sneak into her room at night, pick her up from her bed and just rock her.  Once again taking in her smell and warmth in hopes that it would be enough to last, to fill the void that was inside me in her absence.  It was never enough.

In the mean time I had met someone.  He too, knew what it was like share a child with someone else.  I think this is part of the reason I was drawn to him.  We were inseparable, he was good to my daughter, and when we were all together with our children it felt like a real family.  My daughter was only twenty months old when we had our son.  I tried to play it off as though I was having a wonderful pregnancy, even to my closest loved ones.  All the while inside me was a battle, forged by those crippling emotions I tried so hard to forget as they were brought to the surface by the mere presence of my swollen belly.  Once my son was born, of course I loved him unconditionally.  But to me, he was often a double bladed sword.  On one hand he was perfect, and sweet, and lovable, I enjoyed so much being a mother to him. On the other hand, every milestone he reached before my eyes, every night that I tucked him into bed, was a constant reminder of what I had missed with my daughter.

My daughter is now five.  My husband and I have joined our familes, bought a house, and settled in to raise our children in the best way we can.  Though my youngest son is a constant fixture, I get my daughter every other week, for a week at a time.  My husband gets the same with his son.  I have forced myself to operate within these two different lives, the one with my daughter, and the one with out.   For my daughter, this is normal, she has known nothing else.  Yes, there are the times when she will see a photo of her father and I together, and on come the questions and the tears.  I often cry right along with her.  Not for the life that "might have been" as she does, I know my husband is the person I was meant for.  No, I grieve for the fact that I will always be missing half of her laughter and smiles, skinned knees and broken hearts, questions and concerns...half of her life.

My daughter and I.