I can’t believe it. Our oldest son is out on his own. Two months ago, my husband kicked him out of the house. My son asked me to go pick him up some Kahlua one afternoon, and when I returned home shortly after, he was loading things into his Saturn. I hopped out of the car and immediately ran in the house to see what was going on, and he was in tears. My stomach dropped. I thought I might vomit.
“What happened? Where are you going?” I asked, in a panic.
“Dad kicked me out of the house…”
My mind couldn’t process what he had just said. Kicked him out of the house? I was gone maybe twenty minutes, and my husband wasn’t even home, he was two hours away working. I asked him what happened. He reminded me of the string of around fifty texts my kids received that morning from their Dad, him going on and on about his uniforms being on the couch, wrinkled, when he went to get dressed for work.
“These uniforms make this household a lot of money, I expect if you take them out of the dryer to put your own clothes in, that you take the time to hang them up”. Valid point. “My kids are so fucking lazy and pathetic that they don’t give two fucks about my clothes being wrinkled, so mother fucking careless that…..lazy mother fuckers…sick of your bullshit excuses…little fucking lazy fucks…” Not necessary. That’s taking it too far.
My son’s response to his texts angered my husband to the point he told our son to pack his shit and get the fuck out. I couldn’t believe it. My son had tears streaming down his face as he loaded his crap in to his car. He didn’t have anywhere to go – and his best friend lived with us as well. So that meant both of them were leaving.
A little over a month after that, our daughter moved out. She and her best friend got a place together (a basement room) and were so excited to act like adults. They excitedly bought items they needed to decorate their little basement room, and it brought back so many memories for me of what it was like the first time I got my own apartment with my best friend. It was such an exciting time. I loved the responsibility and I loved being a grown-up.
But less than a week after she left, I came to the harsh realization that my children had been much more affected by their father’s verbal abuse than I ever imagined. In fact, my daughter wasn’t even ready to move out on her own — she simply wanted to get out of the house so bad that she moved out prematurely (more on that in another post). The first time I saw her after she moved out, I could tell she had lost weight.
“Do you have food?” I asked her.
“Na. But don’t worry, it will be okay”.
Right. I wanted to take her to get food. Her Dad said to let her struggle. “Let her be an adult since she wanted to be one so god damn bad”, he said.
So now it’s just my husband, our youngest son (who’s 14 years old and just started his freshman year in high school), and me. I’m working and trying to juggle being a working woman, being a Mom, and keeping our house clean. It’s hard and things are tough right now, but I’m mostly getting accustomed to our oldest two children being gone. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they are gone.
I miss them.
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