Upon waking my daughter sat up, looked at me with tears in her eyes and said she wanted me to trade in all of her gifts to instead get back together with her dad.
It was the morning of her eighth birthday.
We were both groggy, her from coughing the night away with bronchitis and my supporting her through it, working to convince her she would not die, literally. Though a little saddened there was a greater part of me that was happy she was finally expressing herself with spoken word as she had been using her journals to write her feelings away.
It seemed waking up without both parents on her special day triggered her and required her release. I let her know we would not get back together but that we were both still in her life and loved her very much. I held her, let her cry and express her grief.
She is the only with a summer birthday and in this case, it is more difficult to gather her friends for a party as they are often away on holiday. In addition to this her being sick has limited her exposure to others.
This left celebrating at home with our little unit, to include her father, who I’ve successfully avoided spending any time around for months now. I ‘allowed’ him to come inside and spend time with her, for a whole four hours before I asked him to leave, as kindly as I could.
Maybe it was selfish but for now, self-preservation is still a priority. Darwin may have had it right.
It wasn’t that he did anything wrong in particular but simply being around him triggers my anger and I get beside myself, feeling perhaps like a bull with attached flank strap and no place to buck. My only way to calm is removing his energy from my ‘space’.
I have been holding my anger in a vessel, waiting only to determine how and what to transmute it to. I finally concluded that the what is passion so left now is only to determine the how.
The anger reminds me of how a child’s pureness naturally gives way to life’s impurities.
The melting of the birthday candle reminds me that they too need to be taught the fine art of smelting.