Picking up the pieces

It was nearly midnight when my husband pulled away in his loaded pickup truck. He was moving out on his own into an apartment in the next town. How do you tell your kids the next morning where Daddy is? How do you explain why he didn't even say goodbye? Why did my life seem to be turning into a country-and-western song?

I cried. I prayed. I cried some more. In just a few days, though, I learned to save my tears till the children were in bed for the night so they wouldn't think sorrow was my only song. Once they were asleep, I'd head over to the couch and cry. It became a routine.

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March 1, 2004
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