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One afternoon, I heard a song titled “Bye, Mom,” which captured the bittersweet essence of watching children grow up and venture out into the world. It hit me hard, evoking profound sadness. While I dread the thought of my kids getting older, the song resonated even deeper as I thought about my four-year-old daughter who leaves every other weekend. In that moment, I realized I’d be hearing “bye, Mom” far more often than I ever wished.
These feelings compelled me to reflect on the emotional weight of those weekends apart and the ache that comes with being a mother in this situation.
Every other weekend, I pick you up from school on Fridays, eager to make the most of the short time we have together before you have to go. I meticulously pack your things, ensuring you have everything you need, knowing it tears me apart that I can’t be there for you if something’s missing. With each passing minute, I watch the clock, tears streaming down my face as the time draws nearer.
Every other weekend, I witness you saying goodbye to your brothers and your stepdad, their little arms clinging to you as if they could hold you back. I hold you close for as long as you’ll let me, hiding my tears even though I know I’m not fooling anyone. I often fight the urge to pull you back inside when the truck arrives to take you away.
Every other weekend, I watch you walk down the sidewalk, your little frame and blonde hair fading from view. I see your toddler brother throw himself to the floor in anguish, and my heart breaks even more knowing how many people love you. He will ask about you all weekend, and I can’t bear to tell him where you are.
Every other weekend, I send a prayer into the universe, hoping you are happy, healthy, and safe when you’re not with me. I wish for you to know just how much you’re missed and loved. As the weekend continues, I become numb with worry, wondering what you’re doing. Are you watching TV? Playing outside? Are you happy? Sad?
Every other weekend, I wear a brave face because everyone asks, “You miss her, don’t you?” I tidy up your room, preparing it for your return, finding solace in being surrounded by your things.
Come Monday, I rush to school to pick you up, desperate to hold you close until it’s time for you to leave again. I know this is our reality, and while people say I should get accustomed to it, you’ve always been my girl. I prefer having you by my side rather than being apart. Those two weeks with you fly by, and I dread the heartbreak of another weekend apart.
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