Untitled

Untitled.  That's just another way of saying I have a hard time coming up with blog post titles.

This week, something occurred to me.  It only occurred to me this week, because it isn't something I typically think about often.  It actually happened sometime in December.  My oldest child has now lived for more of his life without his father, than with him.

Oh Krista, do we have to get all depressed now?!  No.  Well, you can.  You don't have to on my account.  But dates and times and the passing of our lives mean something to me.  For my youngest, she never spent any of her life with her father, so there was never a point that marked more time without him.  My middle was 2.5 when his father left, so he's already lived more than 2 times more years without him.

But my oldest was 6.5.  He's the only one of my children with actual memories of his father in our home and our lives.  And he just turned 13 this month.  The passing of time now marks more years on this side of that equation.  It is half his life.  But someday, that 6.5 will become a smaller and smaller number.

I'm not feeling sad, per se.  But something in me feels mournful.  I guess mournful IS sad.  I don't know.  I do know that this feels significant somehow.  I feel like I've made a pretty good life for my kids.  They don't know poverty and they don't "want" for the basics of life, which is, sadly, how many children of single mothers do have to live.  But they're still deprived of a father.  And now, for ALL my children, more of their lives have been lived without him, than with him.  I ache about that.

Lately, I've been told by a few people how much they admire what I do as a single mum.  That's great.  It is a boost to my morale.  However, I am NOT. A. DAD.  It sucks.  We're okay without a dad.  That's good, but it's also not good.  Nobody should be okay without a dad.  Nobody should live more than half of their childhood in particular, without a dad.

Sometimes, I kind of hate my kids' "normal".