when each loss feels like a cut

The Oldest

My oldest munchkin lost her trust in her mother.  She lost the school she worked for so many years to qualify for, and, moreover, one that allowed her to keep her friends, her language studies, and provide her a chance at a social life among those with whom she desired to socialize (other students as dedicated to their education, a group of girls to skate with).

She lost the belief that she has a voice, as a child.  The judge pretended to listen, her mother pretended to listen.  She got the courage to ask for what she wanted, and it was summarily dismissed with, “Why can’t you just be happy with what you’ve got?”  A good lesson, but why tell her her opinion matters only to insult her when she actually says it.  “I like my dad.” “I don’t want to make new friends, I want to see my old friends.”  “I hate when my stepdad tells people he’s my real dad.”

The Middle Child

Middle munchkin lost three years of hockey.  Lost the school he wanted.  His faith that his mother in any way or shape loved him.  Oh, and he lost sleep, but hey, teenagers get too much sleep already, right?

The “Baby”

Youngest munchkin lost her friends that she had worked so hard for.  “I had friends, but mom poisoned them, so now I don’t.”  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.

Still, they’ve got their dad again.

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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