April 4th was Buster’s 17th birthday. I didn’t have unrealistic expectations about his desire to talk to me as he hasn’t spoken a word to me since he left months ago. I leave a weekly message for him to call me, I tell him that I love him and that I miss him.
I also put in a weekly call to Max, Hope and Liam. . . sadly they don’t want to talk to me either. . . or they’re not getting the messages or. . . whatever.
It just seems so crazy to me. I have so much love to give my children. I love them, and miss them and want to be a part of their lives; but as fate and circumstance have dealt this hand, there is little to call a relationship with my kids.
It’s been overcast for a few days, but the sun came out and wiped away any doubts of the beauty in this life.
Polly finished up the pilot she was working on, and has now started her spring hiatus. It will be nice having her around the house more.
Things are good at work and play. My work at the City Walk is as good as ever and getting better. Life is good. . . what can I say. . . . I wish I could talk to my kids, and hold them and kiss them and be there for them. Life is an interesting series of challenges. I hope one day they will honor me with the gift of getting to know them.
I know what it’s like to have a mother who puts the kids in the middle and pits the kids against the dad. I didn’t like it when it was happening to me at Max’s age and I like it even less now that it’s happening to them (I can only guess. . . history has a way of repeating itself whether we like it or not).