“How are you?”

In the words of my father, every time you ask him anything, that’s a loaded question. And it’s one that I keep getting, as we all do. Because that’s what we say when we see people. The token “hi, how are you?”. And the answer is always well. Because we don’t have the time to explain how we really are. Nor the time to listen to how someone really is. Luckily, or unluckily, someone far smarter than I invented the interwebs so I can keep you all abreast of how I am.

And the answer is I’m not good. Certainly I’m great at pretending that I’m doing great. But in reality, I’m dying inside. I know, here I go again with the dramatics. But I wrote a very matter of fact, and dripping in pride, little ditty about my oldest living his dream at the ripe old age of 14. And while that is his journey, and while I am 110% here for it, that doesn’t make life at home, learning how to navigate everything without a very solid part of that home life, any easier.

I am lost. Yet again. This is why “they” (whoever the fuck “they” are) tell you to build a life outside of your children, spouse, family. Because we should all be our own person. However, my person was deeply invested in the life of one Jack Jones. And before that, it was deeply invested in the life (and death) of one Ash Jones. It is still wholly invested in one Colt Jones. It’s just him and me, doing our best, without two of the loves of our lives. And let me tell you, it is not easy. (Now would be a good time to break out your violin, no matter how tiny.)

I dropped my eldest off at boarding school about 3 weeks ago. There’s a little bit of vodka (and Taylor Swift) in my ears so I can’t remember exactly when. And I did a good job. I didn’t cry one time until I literally said goodbye. We were at some campground that looked more like an Old West town, minus all the guns and hookers and stuff, Jack was staying with his host family, for lack of a better phrase, and he walked Colt and me back to my car. And that’s where Colt and I lost our shit. Jack, stoic as fuck. Good for him. And it makes sense. He was shaped to miss people. Hate to beat a dead horse here (or do I?) but he learned that his father had less than a year to live when he was 8 years old. Maybe he was 9. I’m not so good with the time and the dates and the ages and really much of anything. But he was trained to miss people from an early age. So, naturally, moving away at 14 to go to a school that is wholly focused on his passion, is not really affecting his mental faculties in a negative way. He’s just 6ish hours away. His mom isn’t dead. His brother isn’t dead. Just a phone call, FaceTime or car ride away. I get it. It makes sense.

However, my nest keeps. fucking. shrinking. And it’s getting more difficult to deal with on an emotional level. I always like to pride myself on my strength. Which is probably all a facade to trick all of you (and myself) into thinking what a bad ass I am. But I feel like I’ve done pretty well raising these babies by myself. We didn’t completely fall apart. We just kept one foot in front of the other and kept moving forward. As best we could. We had a pretty good routine figured out. But then life did what life does and we are yet again pivoting. In the words of Ross Gellar “Pivot. Pivot. PIVOT!!!!!”.

I don’t want to pivot anymore. I was, if not happy, content and accepting of the life we had. I was maid, chef, chauffeur, secretary, bank, mom, confidant, friend, enemy. Just all the things a mom does. And I was not expecting part of my duties to be cut short 4 years early. So the adjustment has been a bit much for this little bitch baby. Unfortunately for Jack, me, mankind (dramatic again), Jack became my rock when Ash died. Unhealthy? Fuck yeah. Reality? Fuck yeah. Too much for a young boy? Obviously. No wonder he was so ready to go. That’s unfair of me to say. He needed to go. As predicted, thus far, he is thriving. And I love that for him. But this isn’t about him. This is about his bitch baby mommy. I lost his dad. And I handled that like a boss. Maybe. I handled it anyway. This feels like something else entirely. And maybe it’s because it’s fresh and I’ve been without Ash for almost 5 years now. So that wound I’ve worked so hard to heal is ripped open once again. But the grief. is. real. He didn’t even remember my birthday. Which was just a few days ago. And I WAS PISSED. Which is so selfish of me. He is living his best life, living in the moment and taking in every second of this blessing that has been bestowed upon him (vomit). But also, don’t be a selfish cunt. No one likes their birthday more than me, except for maybe Colt. I even reminded him the day before. Anyway, besides the point. It hurt my heart.

The truth is, he misses me, in his own way. But he’s also really, really happy. Which, as a mom, is all I can ask for. I can sacrifice everything for that. Just know, when you ask me “how are you?” and I say “I’m doing well” I’m lying my fucking ass off.

I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.