This morning I handed over a very excited girl to a very happy dad. They were going to Scotland for Christmas and New Years and had clearly missed one another over the past two months. It was impossible to see that the night before Zoe had clung on to me saying over and over again "I don't want to say goodbye to you Mom" while squeezing my arm and kissing my cheeks. She was ready to go and have fun with her dad for a couple of weeks.
This evening I have been drinking two glasses of red wine and explored my parents' bar cabinet while catching up with work and email, just to numb the feeling of that hole in my heart. When a Facebook friend posted a sensible post about how we should think about those not fortunate enough to be with their loved ones this Christmas, I teared up, feeling I was such person, being without Zoe. Except I'm not. I feel guilty and stupid for being sad, because part of my divorce was of course me. I left a hopeless and depressing situation, yet I know for certain that if someone had actually sat me down and explained to me that I would only be with my daughter for half the Christmases throughout her childhood, I would have done things differently. I would have stayed with all the consequences. But of course my thoughts were so different back then that I could not even comprehend what was happening to me.
So here I am, feeling guilty over being sad and missing my adorable 5 year old. But instead of thinking that this is Christmas (my family here is being hugely supportive and doing something very unchristmassy and non-traditional for the next couple of days, just for me), I'll think back to this past amazing December where Zoe and I did a gazillion things together and with others:
This evening I have been drinking two glasses of red wine and explored my parents' bar cabinet while catching up with work and email, just to numb the feeling of that hole in my heart. When a Facebook friend posted a sensible post about how we should think about those not fortunate enough to be with their loved ones this Christmas, I teared up, feeling I was such person, being without Zoe. Except I'm not. I feel guilty and stupid for being sad, because part of my divorce was of course me. I left a hopeless and depressing situation, yet I know for certain that if someone had actually sat me down and explained to me that I would only be with my daughter for half the Christmases throughout her childhood, I would have done things differently. I would have stayed with all the consequences. But of course my thoughts were so different back then that I could not even comprehend what was happening to me.
So here I am, feeling guilty over being sad and missing my adorable 5 year old. But instead of thinking that this is Christmas (my family here is being hugely supportive and doing something very unchristmassy and non-traditional for the next couple of days, just for me), I'll think back to this past amazing December where Zoe and I did a gazillion things together and with others:
- We went to see the Fancy Nancy Christmas musical for kids
- We baked a cake house and decorated it with colored frosting, which took all day
- We went to see a shortened version of the Nutcracker where Zoe still talks about the giant clock that opened up with the toys
- We saw the Christmas windows at Saks one evening
- We went ice skating three times, last time at the Rockefeller Center with the giant Christmas tree above
- We went to paint ceramics with Zoe's new best friend Lisa, where Zoe made a beautiful princess that now has its place in my windowsill
- We went to decorate a gingerbread house with her other friend Chloe
- We bought a small Christmas tree, rolled it home on her scooter and decorated it with the friend above
- We bought Christmas presents for our family in Copenhagen and Zoe wrapped every one of them herself and wrote every single card herself (with my letter guidance)
- We wrote Christmas cards to 5+ friends that Zoe put in the mail box or handed out at school
- We watched A Christmas Carol as musical and went for hot chocolate afterwards
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