Sunday

Ah, Sunday. I've mentioned many times that I dislike Sundays, but never really explained why. Much like the flagellating priests who castigate themselves for their sins, Sunday is the day I try to atone for my sins and wallow in my guilt.

Given the schedule I'm on with my son, Sunday is either the day he goes home to his mother, or the first of two days where I don't see him at all. That leaves me here, by myself, to think of everything I did that led him to have to go through this. Most other days, I have something to distract me, usually hating work. Of course, I could distract myself on Sundays as well, but I choose not to. In some sick corner of my head, I feel like I deserve to feel like shit at least one day a week.

My divorce was as amicable as one could be. Although I forced the issue, and we probably would have remained (unhappily) married if not for my prodding, it was something that probably needed to happen. I still love the woman, and always will. And, given that she doesn't seem to hate me, I presume she still has feelings for me. We just wanted different things out of life, and I had let my mindset crumble to the point that staying married was making her miserable. I feel guilty that I let it get to that point, but I don't feel guilty for the divorce itself. She's moved on, and appears to be much happier than she ever was with me. And I'm really, honestly happy for her. Maybe a little jealous, but I think that's to be expected.

But my son, he did nothing to deserve this. By all rights, he's adjusted to the situation more quickly and easily than either one of us. He's talked to counselors, and they all agree is one of the most well-adjusted kids they've talked to. He seems to be handling the situation with grace and ease, and it seems to have had no ill effects whatsoever. He's still having to deal with it, though...the shuffling from one house to another, the uncertainty of new people in his life based on who we're dating, the fact that he can't see one of us when he is with the other. While he has adjusted, he still HAD to adjust, and that was my fault. I lived through this myself. Although my situation was a bit different, I was still about his age, and I remember the feelings I had. I never wanted this for him. I wanted so much for him to grow up happy, shielded by his parents, knowing that we were a family. I've explained to him many times that we're still a family, and he knows we are. But we're a different kind of family. I forced this upon him...forced him to realize that love isn't forever, that relationships dissolve, that 'family' isn't a constant. These are lessons that he would have learned, no doubt, but it shouldn't have been at my hand.

So, Sunday is the day that I feel these things most keenly. The rest of the week, my mind is busy with other things. Sunday, it turns to the fact that he is at one house, I'm at another, and the reason that's true is my fault. He learned lessons at my hand that I didn't want to teach him. And for all that I taught him, he seems to have learned them much, much better than I have. One day, when he's older, I hope that he'll understand why this happened, why I put him through this, and when that day comes, I hope he'll forgive me.