"And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass of what was everything."
I don't like priority shifts. I like to have my family up top with my dignity and my survival, and I don't like putting work or money before anything else. More specifically, I don't like putting anything before my kid -- which is why I've had a very exhausting month.
Earlier in May, Steven's car broke down. That put us down to one vehicle, which was an interesting situation because our schedules are pretty much touch-and-go. When he gets home in the morning from work, it's time for me to leave. When I get back at night, it's time for him to go back to work. It's pretty convenient if you have to share a vehicle, but that also meant I was stranded at home without a car for most of the month -- less than fun times, guys. Less than fun.
Now, going down to Dover to see Gavin during the week is pretty much an impossibility at this point. It's a long drive, and I work longer hours now than I did before, which means even less free time. That's fine; I can go see him on the weekends. The only problem with that is, I could only go down on weekends when Steve wasn't working -- because if he was working, that meant I was stuck at home. So I've had to wait for a weekend when we both have off, which is every other weekend. The first weekend we both had off, we had plans set in advance with Barbara (she set aside a night for nothing but country music at the bar for Steven and me), then we had a church function (the bishop was stepping down) and we also had a birthday party and a baseball game to go to. Dover is an all-day trip, we just had too many things going on to drop all of it and go downstate.
Steven fixed his car a couple weeks ago, so for Memorial Day Weekend, I could have gone down alone to see Gavin while Steve was working. But I didn't, because I'd made plans several months prior to go to New York for the weekend with some ladies. And you have to figure that after a month of not seeing Gavin, I was pretty much in shambles, but the cottage was paid for and I'd made a commitment to Barb.
This past weekend was really the only weekend that I've had available to go see Gavin. I'd hoped to be able to kidnap him for a good chunk of Saturday or Sunday because I missed him so much -- but I ran into some accusations along the way that put a fairly effective halt to my intentions.
As though I weren't miserable enough already, having not seen my family -- my WHOLE family --- since Mother's Day weekend, my sister felt it was necessary to point out that there were probably many times that I could have come down, and I opted not to. I don't think she was aware that I didn't have a spare vehicle all month, but that's neither here nor there. Whether I had a reason for my behavior or not, I felt it was uncalled for to have her telling me that not only was it a willful decision to pick other activities (read: snuggles with my boyfriend?) over Gavin, but that my behavior warranted punishment in the form of her actively resisting my visit downstate.
It isn't enough, apparently, that she scoffs when I say I miss him -- as though by virtue of my not pushing him out of my vagina, it might decrease my capacity for emotion. It seems it is also within her power as his mother to say when I can and cannot see him -- which it is. She has the authority to withhold him from me. But why would she do that? I come down and roll around in the grass with him and keep him safe and happy, and she gets to do whatever she wants in the meantime. She sees him every day of his precious life; there is no reason that she should fight so hard to keep me from spending a few hours with him.
She tried, though. She said the weekend is the only time she gets with both Jack and Gavin together, and that I can't expect to just infringe on that 'family' time. She said that she already had plans to take Gavin to his other aunt's house (ouch! burn!). And I just sat here quietly, feeling the slow swell of my heartbeat, breathing with care around the lump in my throat, eyes burning from crying, and all I replied was, "I understand. Let me know when it's a good time for me to come see him."
I refused, and still refuse, to defend myself with her. Anybody who knows who I am knows how much that boy means to me. Let it never be said that I haven't loved him enough or sacrificed enough or tried hard enough. But even I have my limits.
Laura changed her mind about the other aunt and somewhat reluctantly agreed to let me see Gavin on Saturday. She brought him over for a barbecue. Steve went out and threw water balloons with him, and then Steve and I took Lily and Gavin in the pool for a couple hours. When Gavin's medicine wore off and he began acting out, I told him that play time was over and he needed to go in the house. He climbed out of the pool, sobbing, and walked to the back door of my parents' house. Ten minutes later, when I came inside to dry off, I stepped into the bathroom to change, and while I did that, my sister took Gavin and left.
I cried yesterday over this. I don't see him for a month, and then when I DO get to see him, you don't even let me say goodbye? Not so much as a knock on the fucking door, "We're leaving," where I could wrap a towel around myself and kiss his forehead and tell him that I'm sorry that we couldn't stay in the pool but we would come play with him again soon. Nothing. Not a goddamn word. That makes me feel absolutely fucking stellar. I know he's not going to hold a grudge because I made him get out of the pool, but I cannot stand leaving things like that. The last time I saw him, he was crying on the back porch waiting for someone to bring him a towel. Right, that's the image I want to carry around with me until my sister deems me worthy to see my child again -- you know, when she decides to stop playing God.
~Omi...
Earlier in May, Steven's car broke down. That put us down to one vehicle, which was an interesting situation because our schedules are pretty much touch-and-go. When he gets home in the morning from work, it's time for me to leave. When I get back at night, it's time for him to go back to work. It's pretty convenient if you have to share a vehicle, but that also meant I was stranded at home without a car for most of the month -- less than fun times, guys. Less than fun.
Now, going down to Dover to see Gavin during the week is pretty much an impossibility at this point. It's a long drive, and I work longer hours now than I did before, which means even less free time. That's fine; I can go see him on the weekends. The only problem with that is, I could only go down on weekends when Steve wasn't working -- because if he was working, that meant I was stuck at home. So I've had to wait for a weekend when we both have off, which is every other weekend. The first weekend we both had off, we had plans set in advance with Barbara (she set aside a night for nothing but country music at the bar for Steven and me), then we had a church function (the bishop was stepping down) and we also had a birthday party and a baseball game to go to. Dover is an all-day trip, we just had too many things going on to drop all of it and go downstate.
Steven fixed his car a couple weeks ago, so for Memorial Day Weekend, I could have gone down alone to see Gavin while Steve was working. But I didn't, because I'd made plans several months prior to go to New York for the weekend with some ladies. And you have to figure that after a month of not seeing Gavin, I was pretty much in shambles, but the cottage was paid for and I'd made a commitment to Barb.
This past weekend was really the only weekend that I've had available to go see Gavin. I'd hoped to be able to kidnap him for a good chunk of Saturday or Sunday because I missed him so much -- but I ran into some accusations along the way that put a fairly effective halt to my intentions.
As though I weren't miserable enough already, having not seen my family -- my WHOLE family --- since Mother's Day weekend, my sister felt it was necessary to point out that there were probably many times that I could have come down, and I opted not to. I don't think she was aware that I didn't have a spare vehicle all month, but that's neither here nor there. Whether I had a reason for my behavior or not, I felt it was uncalled for to have her telling me that not only was it a willful decision to pick other activities (read: snuggles with my boyfriend?) over Gavin, but that my behavior warranted punishment in the form of her actively resisting my visit downstate.
It isn't enough, apparently, that she scoffs when I say I miss him -- as though by virtue of my not pushing him out of my vagina, it might decrease my capacity for emotion. It seems it is also within her power as his mother to say when I can and cannot see him -- which it is. She has the authority to withhold him from me. But why would she do that? I come down and roll around in the grass with him and keep him safe and happy, and she gets to do whatever she wants in the meantime. She sees him every day of his precious life; there is no reason that she should fight so hard to keep me from spending a few hours with him.
She tried, though. She said the weekend is the only time she gets with both Jack and Gavin together, and that I can't expect to just infringe on that 'family' time. She said that she already had plans to take Gavin to his other aunt's house (ouch! burn!). And I just sat here quietly, feeling the slow swell of my heartbeat, breathing with care around the lump in my throat, eyes burning from crying, and all I replied was, "I understand. Let me know when it's a good time for me to come see him."
I refused, and still refuse, to defend myself with her. Anybody who knows who I am knows how much that boy means to me. Let it never be said that I haven't loved him enough or sacrificed enough or tried hard enough. But even I have my limits.
Laura changed her mind about the other aunt and somewhat reluctantly agreed to let me see Gavin on Saturday. She brought him over for a barbecue. Steve went out and threw water balloons with him, and then Steve and I took Lily and Gavin in the pool for a couple hours. When Gavin's medicine wore off and he began acting out, I told him that play time was over and he needed to go in the house. He climbed out of the pool, sobbing, and walked to the back door of my parents' house. Ten minutes later, when I came inside to dry off, I stepped into the bathroom to change, and while I did that, my sister took Gavin and left.
I cried yesterday over this. I don't see him for a month, and then when I DO get to see him, you don't even let me say goodbye? Not so much as a knock on the fucking door, "We're leaving," where I could wrap a towel around myself and kiss his forehead and tell him that I'm sorry that we couldn't stay in the pool but we would come play with him again soon. Nothing. Not a goddamn word. That makes me feel absolutely fucking stellar. I know he's not going to hold a grudge because I made him get out of the pool, but I cannot stand leaving things like that. The last time I saw him, he was crying on the back porch waiting for someone to bring him a towel. Right, that's the image I want to carry around with me until my sister deems me worthy to see my child again -- you know, when she decides to stop playing God.
~Omi...