Sins of the Mother

I have slept most of the day away. There is always such a pang of grief that overwhelms me after one or both of my daughters leaves to go back to their father. Even though he's a great father, and he provides for them, both mentally and financially, much better than I could ever do.  It aches, this part time parenting thing. It used to be that, although I only saw them every other weekend during the school year, I always looked forward to summer because that was my time with them. But now their summers are packed full of exciting trips and camping and other things that even if I could afford to do for them my anxiety would cause me to be anything but fun to be around. I want them to experience all these great things with their dad. I do. But I miss them. I'm not whole without them, and I know this is a consequence of my illness, and part of me even feels that I deserve it. Because, bipolar episode or not, the choices I made years ago were, in a word, crazy. Crazy decisions that I would not have made in my right mind. I would have never left my children. I would not have left my husband. But that's what happened, and I pay for it every day. All the things I miss in their lives, that's payment. All the times I cry myself to sleep after they leave my doorstep, that's payment. There's nothing I can do to change it. I'm not a segment of Doctor Who. I can't go back in time and do things differently. And even if I could, then I wouldn't have my son and his father in my life. It's a gamble of fates, to wish anything different than the way it is now.