One day, a song titled “Goodbye, Mom” played on the radio, capturing the bittersweet essence of watching children grow up. It struck a chord with me, evoking deep sadness, especially as I thought of my four-year-old daughter who spends every other weekend away. It hit me that the phrase “goodbye, Mom” would echo in my life far more often than I would like.
This realization led me to reflect on the emotional burden that every other weekend brings.
Every other weekend, I pick you up from school on Friday and hurry home, cherishing the fleeting hours we have together before you leave again.
Every other weekend, I meticulously pack your things, ensuring you have everything you need, knowing it pains me not to be there to assist you if something comes up.
Every other weekend, I anxiously watch the clock, and as time slips away, my tears flow heavier.
Every other weekend, I witness you hug your siblings and your stepdad goodbye, as they cling to you before you walk out the door.
Every other weekend, I hold you close for as long as you’ll allow, trying to hide my tears, even though I know I’m not fooling you.
Every other weekend, I struggle against the urge to pull you back inside as a car pulls up to take you away.
Every other weekend, I see my whole world walk down the sidewalk, catching one last glimpse of your little figure and blonde hair.
Every other weekend, I watch your little brother crumble to the floor, realizing you’re gone, and my heart shatters even more, knowing how much love surrounds you. He asks about you constantly, and I can’t bear to explain.
Every other weekend, as you drive away, I say a prayer for your happiness and well-being while you’re away from me, hoping you feel my love even in my absence.
Every other weekend, I find myself lost in thoughts about what you might be doing. Are you watching cartoons? Playing outside? Are you feeling joy or sadness?
Every other weekend, I wear a brave face, as family members notice my sadness.
Every other weekend, I tidy up your room, preparing it for your return. Being in your space brings me comfort.
The Monday after “every other weekend,” I rush to school, eager to see you because I can’t stand the separation any longer. I hold you tightly until it’s time to let you go again. People say I should get used to it, but since your first day, you’ve been my little girl, and I’d rather have you with me than away. Those two weeks together slip away too quickly, and the heartbreak of every other weekend looms over me.
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In summary, the experience of shared custody is filled with emotional highs and lows. Every other weekend brings a mix of joy and heartbreak, as moments with my daughter become cherished but fleeting. The struggle to adjust to this new normal is ongoing, but the love I have for her remains unchanging.