Why don't you love who I am?
What we could have been
Tuesday is a slow-motion weekday today, the first true day maybe. Ruth came over and we took a long walk around the neighbourhood, Henry and Lochlan hovering just enough on the icier sidewalks but then forging ahead, deep in conversation far out of reach. The rain is heavier now and I'm glad it held off.
Caleb remains behind us. Walking steadily. Not looking up. Ears tuned keenly forward but adding nothing to the conversation. Ruth is stronger than he is and they both know it and so he is charming but guarded now that she has come into her own. The older she gets the more favourites she plays but she also does not forget or look coldly on her time being raised partially by him too. The rest she knows and we just don't talk about it, but she understands I keep no secrets from her or her brother and the tension with Caleb will forever be a tangent presence.
I'm reading Dave Grohl's biography and I'm struck by how he glosses over major formative aspects of his childhood in order to wax platitudes on the other side and how that's exactly what we all do once we are past the hard parts. It's a coping mechanism and an eroded emotion. It's water under the bridge you burned. It's the way it's done and you just hope to do better with your own children, only they are still attempting to raise me together as a pack and rarely does that work, if ever.