when each loss feels like a cut

The Oldest

Oldest munchkin lost the chance at a figure skating team. It’s the reason she skates, hoping to be part of something with other girls. She lost Mandarin Chinese. I mean, at this point, it’s probably too late. She started at five, but got it taken away by her mother at 12. I don’t think Chinese is very useful for her, but it is part of her identity (being good at languages.). 

Skating teams, Chinese, expensive camps.  All of that?  Not really enough to convince a judge that she’s deprived.  But what the judge didn’t see?  She lost the belief that she has a voice, as a child.  She kept having the judge pretend to listen, her mother pretend to listen.  And then it didn’t matter.  Sometimes I wish he just hadn’t asked her, if he wasn’t going to listen.  So she didn’t know.

The Middle Child

Middle munchkin lost the chance for the sleep he desperately wanted, but who cares if he gets sleep?  He lost three years of hockey, for no reason.  He, too, lost his faith that adults care about what he feels and what he thinks.

And he lost his relationship with his mother.  But, hey, who cares about that, right?

The “Baby”

Youngest munchkin lost the chance at having friends, again. “I had friends, but mom poisoned them, so now I don’t.”  She used to have friends.  Since her father began fighting to have her in his life at least half the time, they’ve been used as leverage to prevent that. It worked, too, at first. But only at first. The fallout is she can’t see her friends outside of school. She’s no longer invited to birthday parties, sleepovers, etc. She can’t see them at school, either. Since she skipped a grade, she’s in a different school.  She lost sleep, sort of.  She doesn’t sleep much, anyway.  But she could have spent hours more at home, chilling on her queen sized bed, watching her shows.  She lost that.  I guess that part is okay.  But it’s kind of sucky.

But they get to have their dad again. And they are unbelievably happy and grateful for this. They are happy kids again. I am no longer worried about them hurting themselves…or worse.

Still I am sad for them. At what they’ve lost. For no reason. Because nobody believed their voice mattered, or at least not enough people. I wish I was less empathetic. No, I don’t. But it would be easier.

I will grieve, and I will move on.

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