Every Other Sunday

My family has been my everything for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in my life, as long as my family is by my side, I know I will be okay. And then comes along 2020.

First I lost my father. The man I’ve looked up to my entire life. The man no one else can measure up to. The man who always had my back and helped me grow and taught me how to be a good person with a big heart. The most kind, caring, and giving person I have ever met.

Then I lost my husband. Pandemics and grief do crazy things to people. I lost my best friend and the man who helped raise our amazing children. The only other man that has been there for me through my adult life. The man who has been so caring and supportive our entire relationship.

And now, every other Sunday I lose my children.

My oldest is 19. As an adult, he comes and goes as he pleases. I see him at least once a week and I try to talk to him every day. But his siblings are still minors.

I get to spend every other week watching movies and helping with homework and playing board or card games and cooking or baking and painting our nails and taking dogs on walks. I do my best to spend as much time with them as I can because I know when Sunday comes, they will be gone again. Every time they leave or I drop them off, my heart breaks a little more.

Luckily, this Sunday they are coming back. I can’t wait to see them again. I can’t wait to spend the week making memories and being there for them.

I love my children more than I could ever imagine. I just hate every other Sunday.