The end of a very long year

Today marks a year of my waking up as a single mom.

Wow, has it been a year already? It was Monday, September 16, 2013, when I got a call saying my husband had moved out, so yes, it's been a year. I was surprised last night when I said it aloud to someone that I wasn't more emotional about it. But then I'm hardly emotional about it at all these days. Ever.

OK, sure, I still have my bad days. We all do. And on my bad days I'm pretty down. But most of my negative thoughts are the same ones I had before I was ever married, so I doubt they're related to my no longer being married--although my divorce may have reinforced those thoughts.

When I think about my life and worry, there are two things I primarily worry about:

First, my kids are likely to grow up without a dad figure in their lives. And that sucks. It terrifies me some days, when I think of the statistics I've heard about fatherless kids. I don't want my kids to become statistics. I want them to flourish and grow, and I will do what I can. But they'll be at a disadvantage. And it's not their fault. It just breaks my heart. I worry about them, especially Timothy. Who will guide him when he's a teenager and needs a mature man to steer him right?

Second, I never expected to spend my life working full-time. I wasn't trained for a career, and I'm not ambitious. And the only job I ever enjoyed and really planned to do is now pretty much out of my reach. Different people have recommended I go in different directions--many of these directions involving grad school. But the truth is I'm not passionate enough about anything to get a graduate degree, to pay all that money, to spend all that time on something. It's hard enough working full-time and taking care of the kids without throwing grad school into the mix. I think not. So I worry about my work future and how we'll make ends meet in the long run.

Bust most days I don't think about these things. I don't think about being divorced (though I often do think about being a single mom). I don't think about how things shouldhave been. And I don't talk about it. There's not really anyone to talk to anyway. Last September, people said, "Call me if you ever want to talk," as though it's easy to just pick up the phone and talk to someone who has absolutely no clue what your life is like. Um, yeah, not so much. Besides, there isn't really much to say.

When my kids awoke a year ago today, they woke to a new definition of family, a new reality. And they have done brilliantly. I couldn't be more proud of them.

So maybe today I'll celebrate a year of survival, of making it through, of sometimes even finding the little joys amongst the hard places. Today I'll celebrate a year with my little family of three--and the addition of two little kitties to our family. :) Instead of dreading the years ahead of survival mode, I'll keep hugging my kids and telling them I love them. If they don't get that from their daddy, by golly, they're going to have to get it from me. Every day.

And I will remember:

We are still a family.