All morning I held my breath. Naomi was on a plane with her dad, on their way to California, the first of many trips there she will take without me.
I do not do well on planes. Turns out, I do even worse when my child is on a plane without me.
For four days, I am home with the baby. I already miss my little girl.
There is so much to do. The house, which is its usual grubby mess (and now overrun with ants) must be cleaned and reorganized. Josh's move-out date looms at the end of this week, and nothing is done.
People always say divorce is hard. It's one of those things that defies explanation, just how hard divorce is, even when it's for the best. As I wander through the house looking for things to throw in boxes I am continually confronted with our dashed hopes and dead plans. We really did plan to spend our lives together. We really did think, for a long time, that we would make it. Even though I've been mourning our future together for a year or more, much longer than Josh, the family photo we took just after Naomi was born still brings me to tears. That was the best time of our marriage, our first year of parenthood. Naomi brought light into such darkness.
As I am faced with this monstrous task of purging and cleansing, I shrink into a fantasy world of new beginnings. While I should be sorting clothes and toys, I pace and think of other times, other places, other people. I pace and pace, going from one incomplete task to another. I am distracted and distracted from distraction. I am frenetic and unfocused. My wheels are spinning so fast they leave burn marks on my psyche.