Enough?

You know what the most depressing sound in the world is?

The slam of the cardoor, on the morning you drop your son off at school, when his dad is gonig to pick him up, and he turns and waves at you. Not hug. No kiss. A wave. He’s too big these days for public displays of affection; or so he says, when he’s up and running and fine. When he’s not, or he’s fallen, or sick, or just plain miserable, then it’s okay to cling to me.

Today, he told me to just go, he could handle being at school, as, afterall, Daddy was coming to pick him up. For the Whole Weekend. Like I didn’t already know.

I’m the one that packed the bag you know. I’m the one that packed the Cute Outfit, to go to B’s family’s annual bbq/beer bash for the 4th, being hosted this Saturday, where he’s taking the newest girlfriend, or, as Michele and I refer to her, Ex-Wife Number Three. Oh. Did I forget to mention he’s bringing her here? To meet me?

More accurately, I think, to rub my nose in it. And this whole thing, while I say I’m fine with it, is starting to eat at me. Not that he’s found someone else, more than his family with love her as she’ll arrive with a halo on, while I’ll still remain the Horrendous Schemeing Home Wrecking Second Wife, with Gold Digging Tendencies.

Which really, is the crux of the issue, the one thing I’ve yet to fully recover from: the Not Being Enough.

Not enough for him, to want to get better, or get a grip, or stay medicated; not worth enough for him to respect my opinion, boundries, wishes or desires, not enough for him to stand up to his mother, his dad, his horrendous Aunt and Uncle. And while I’ve managed to forgive, and to some extent, forget the stuff that happened while we were married, this one part I cannot seem to let go. In his mind, I wasn’t enough of a parnter, wife, friend, or mother.

And yeah, so my mom’s visit didn’t really assist me here, as we all know just how insideous our parents can be when left to their own devices, and refuse to see past the Game Face, and accept their children for who they are.

So today, listening to that puff of air float off his waving hand, the door slam a distant echo in the parking lot, his little voice and big eyes telling me, after begging me at home to stay a while in class, that he didn’t need me - that all followed me. First, to the bank, to make a deposit. Pass on the sucker; he’s at school. And to CVS, to drop off the photos - his school and karate graduation - where I ran into B’s dad, who blantently asked me if I was paying for reprints, so they could have some too, all I can hear is the door slamming echo. The Daddy is picking me up Mommy, don’t you worry about me, sing-songing in my head.

So I did what any decent, totally worthy human being would do:

I went home. To bed. Ignored the phone. And stayed there.

I’ll get up, I’m sure.

When I feeling up to being Enough.