Tally Up the Days

     It seems like a disgusting thing to do. I must run through each event for the last two years and examine why it supports a decision for me to be the sole custodial parent of my children. I must toss away all notions of remembering the good and letting go of the bad in favour of a mathematic equation that ends with me as the sum. It feels cold. It is not what I want to do.
     But to achieve my goal, to feel I can give the children the proper protection and shelter, it is what I must do. Though I am not certain of the eventual outcome, I am pretty confident my request shall be granted. I am not afraid of any decision; I am loath to the process. You see, after all that has happened, I do not hate her. I feel only sorrow for her. I am sorry for the things she has lost. I am sorry that she could not accept the help offered for her. I take some comfort in the idea that perhaps she is now finding some fulfillment where she is and doing what she is doing, yet I have trouble believing it. Still, I suppose this is all what she felt she must do, and so what I now do is what I feel I must.
     Tally up the days. I cannot categorize them. I cannot say I would like to live them all again, nor can I say I wish I never had. I just want to be able to continue and watch my children flourish.

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