This morning I looked in the mirror and what was staring back at me was an ET look alike. You see when I cry my eyes out like I did last night I end up with a massive headache and end up looking like ET (fact) i.e. big swollen eyes and a wrinkly face.
Why? Well, because my beautiful 5 year old boy Dara has gone on a 9 day holiday with his daddy. For those of you that don’t know: I was married at the age of 24, had Dara at 26 and then sadly separated a few years ago.
As awful as it was, myself and my ex have somehow managed to remain on very good terms. Both of us have moved on and are in happy relationships. When my ex suggested taking Dara away on a holiday to one of those fancy camp sites in Italy, I thought “of course, that’s a great idea; you two will have a ball!” I was actually excited for Dara and went to buy him some new crocs (this type of footwear is only cute on kids!) and some swim shorts.
Last night as I put the last few things in to Dara little suitcase the tears started… and then wouldn’t stop (like when I watched the Notebook for the first time with a hangover). I went for a short run to try pull myself together but by the second kilometre I was crying again. Think dehydration was about to kick in too!
This is the real side of marriage break-ups (where there are children involved) someone always has to lose out. There’s no denying that my life is much better, happier, calmer since the split. And I’m madly in love with my boyfriend of almost two years. But it was a sore reminder that I’d failed at something that’s pretty much the biggest thing in your lifetime. In an ideal world this shouldn’t happen, people are meant meet, get together, commit to one another, have a child or children, and live happily every after. But life isn’t that straightforward, things change, people change and in some cases the problem is that some people won’t change.
This will be the longest time myself and Dara have been apart since he was born. He’s always there like this perfect, gorgeous little shadow asking me questions, or telling me what a try he scored on his own out in the garden. He seems to be more interested in chatting to me as I cook dinner/put a wash on or attempt to hoover. But for the next week I can do all of the above in peace and quiet… in fact, there’ll be an echo!
Yesterday, as we pulled up to my ex’s house Dara informed me of some very big news … Dylan (who is 6 by the way) can’t click his fingers “imagine that mam, I’m only 5 and I can do that already.” He’s very proud of that.
So for the next 9 days I’ll have no champion penalty taker, or finger clicker, or 5 million questions asked… just silence … I know I won’t enjoy it. *
*(This column was written two weeks ago so little Dara is now back)