Atomictumor

Listening to Sweet Virginia by the Stones, and thinking its the best song for today.

I went to Donuts for Dads at Pigpen’s school, a tradition that I did with MastaG years before, and am doing now.  While there, I sat with Bos, October, and Spotz, and it was great spending time with little Pigpen.  As I left, I walked him down to the cafeteria, so he could get more food (he likes breakfast).

I hugged him and told him good bye, and then walked away. I turned around about 10 feet away from him, and he was still standing there, with his backpack on, his back turned to me.  He was watching the rest of the kids, just standing there like he didn’t care to go anywhere just yet.

It struck me that he’s growing up.  Its struck me a lot this year, watching him wander off to the ‘big school’, but it really hit today.  I never really felt this way about MastaG growing up, because he’s the big kid, and maybe thats unfair to him, or me, or something, but I really feel it today.

Because to a huge part of me, they’re all I’ve got.  That part of me is trying to learn, particuarly now that I’m in a relationship of sorts with a great girl (hate the word relationship), that I don’t have to be the widower, that I don’t have to stand apart from the world, wounded, subjugating my wants and needs purposefully, simply because I don’t know what to do with them, and don’t want to screw around with having them.

I keep telling her that I wouldn’t wish being the girlfriend (or ladyfriend) of a widower on my worst enemy.  Not because I feel like I’m cheating on BJ, not at all, but because of all the other things just lying beneath the surface.  The things that I avoided, or ignored, because I didn’t figure there could be anything for me after her.

Its an odd trip, and one that I can’t predict at all.  Its one that I can’t really talk to my friends about, because its kinda weird to talk to people that knew me and BJ, and our love, and our relationship, and our us, about this new life.  Not sure why, and I’m almost certain none of these people feel that way, so I guess its just me.  Surely they don’t look at me like a wounded animal, right?

Odd, odd odd.

Maybe I’m just melancholy, or in my traditonal late summer funk (the heat’s about enough to do it).  I haven’t had energy for a week, my throat hurts, and I don’t want to talk to anybody.

At the same time, I’m so tired of being alone.

I’m tired of being the widower.  And the dad with the momless kids growing up so quickly, and so bittersweetly.