An Annual Death

For about 49 weeks of the year, I am in full bloom. I am in a “go-go-go-go” mode that rarely allows me to catch my breath or to stop and reallyevaluate where I am. Then for about 2 or 3 weeks I fantasize about the few weeks I’ll be free to do whatever I choose because “Em” will be with “Jake.” I get excited, I make plans, I tell everyone about my upcoming un-mom time.

And then I die.

It’s like my senses just stop sensing. Things I was excited about before Em left are suddenly a burden to follow through with. My vision stops seeing the fun things I could be doing and just sees the end of the tunnel where Em stands once again, waiting for me to be in charge of her life again. Jokes aren’t funny. Movies aren’t memorable. Days fly by, my brain barely acknowledging that they even happened. When the workday is over, I realize I haven’t made the plans I thought up in my head and it’s too late to do anything about them. My friends and I make empty promises to do something together while Em is away.

I flounder my way through my few “single” days, doing nothing to improve my situation. I tell no one of my death. I just wait.

Wait for my life to return to the hustle and bustle that surrounds a family with children. Wait for the crazy, busy normalcy to force me to forget the weeks before.

The weeks I died.

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