Mother’s Day
He was supposed to bring her back today. He texted first thing this morning, saying he couldn’t afford a ticket and shouldn’t my family be chipping in more and no one respects his schedule. But I could skype her as much as I wanted.
This is good, everyone says. He’s hung himself. He’s in contempt of court now, something we’ve been trying to pin on him from the beginning. But he always gets away from it by a hair, a flimsy excuse or fast talking. He kept you from having Mother’s Day with your toddler.
I spend a tremendous amount of time figuring out people’s motives. I get paid to figure out why a kid acts out in school and offer mildly helpful suggestions. Jacob’s motives are typically transparent and selfish. And all about money.
But this is different. I felt a strong assurance that this was a deliberate attempt to sabotage Mother’s Day. And vindictive, oppositional protest against my court battles. He must know he’s lost primary custody.
So now I will wake up with two out of three daughters who are bewildered by my intense longing for Lucy, despite my many attempts to reassure them that I love them equally as much. We will cling to each other all morning, each of us confused and worried about our orange peanut. We’ll go to church and I’ll skillfully avoid my new friends, wonderful, deeply empathetic men and women who genuinely care. I hope no one asks how I’m doing. And we will not being able to fold one of her sleepers or step on a dinosaur without tearing up.
She belongs here. And he knows it.
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