This blog has been a long, mournful search for meaning in the wake of a painful breakup. I'm sorry that no resolution is in sight. The pain remains, but I must now move on to other subjects.
Today, in the sunshine that bathed San Francisco, I played with three of my children. They are beautiful beyond belief. Every moment with them in special, as it has always been with my older three, as well.
The outcome of two of my loves are these six special people. My eldest turns 30 tomorrow and is a talented writer. Her sister, 27, has a degree in cognitive science and is an activist. My oldest son, now 24, is entering Cal Tech in neuroscience this September.
The three with me today are my 11-year-old athlete who says he wants to be a doctor; my ten-year-old with curly red hair who says he will be a movie director; and my seven-year-old daughter who says she will be an artist or a writer, she's not quite sure.
The youngest felt she was slow at reading last fall, but no longer. She read me a number of books today, including sounding out vocabulary words that not long ago were far beyond her. She and I love cooking meals together and planting flowers. Last night, we went to a movie, "Over the Hedge."
The little boys and their friend played baseball today with me in the sun, and then basketball, lots of basketball. We finished our last game of the day with a tie, 19-19.
I am alone, without love from any adult partner, nor is anyone even interested in me on that level, as far as I know. But I have six people whose love for me is reliable, unlike that from the former partners who vanish on the wind, leaving only pain and loss in their wake.
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