“Sometimes when things are falling apart,

They may actually

be falling into place.”

― Sukhrai S. Dhillon

From the moment I decided to focus on my children rather than my disgraceful marriage now that clarity has been on my side. As the hours rolled by holding my babies as they slept, I noticed things about Davis I often looked passed before. Like the way he talked about himself, so full of pride and boastful. How he never cleaned up after himself or our children. How he expected laundry or his favorite pair of pants to be magically clean, folded and in their place. How he didn’t lift a finger to help Ben with homework or Lucas with exercises from speech therapy. I did it all, without complaint. But now, now I can see it all so clearly. Now, I realized he needed me more than I ever needed him.

The small wooden frame creaked and cracked as I slipped out of bed. Leaving my boys to rest I went to our basement and got to work. I started a new load of laundry and started packing spare sheets and throw blankets into scented garage bags. Our basement was full of bulk buys in one corner, neatly placed and organized on stainless steel cookie racks. Grabbing two bottles of unopened Purex, I place them on the dryer before turning to the wall of stacked totes. The wall of memories I wouldn’t be able to take with me.  Brushing away tears I tie up my hair and grab an empty tote. Dryer sheets, dish soap, trash bags and other cleaning supplies and household items quickly fill to the top.

When the dryer beeps, I check the time. 2:00am. After removing sweat across my forehead with a dirty sleeve, I place my hands on my hips. Taking a step back I look at the pile of things I packed. Three large totes full of what essentially was a starter pack to a new life, a fresh start. Cleaning supplies, fresh linens, once stored away curtains, candles, snacks, jars of ragu sauce and boxed “ready- to eat” nonperishables. Thank God for Costco’s. Five trash bags of clean clothes, blankets, pillows, dishtowels and more.

I had more than I ever needed materialistically in this home, and I wonder if that was part of the problem. Maybe greed was the root cause for the destruction of my marriage. Maybe harmful desires caused my husband to become a heartless father.

Simplicity was what my boys and I needed. I was literally standing proof that money couldn’t buy happiness and truly never had at all. My happiness had always been Lucas and Ben.

“Those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction.”     -1 Timothy 6:9

To my surprise I fell asleep faster than I imagined. I guess worry will really take it out of you. The morning sun peaks in passed the opened blinds calling me to my feet. Rest can wait. Shuffling down the hall I wake the boys for breakfast. Sweet and sleepy groans come from each twin bed. The baseballs on the theme printed sheets look as if they are coming to life as their bodies both toss and turn.

“Ben”, I whisper “Come help me with breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am”.

In the kitchen, Ben pushes up a step stool to the island. I remember him doing this since the age of two, always wanting and willing to help me in the kitchen. Especially when it came to baking, only it was one of the dining room chairs and not a tiny step stool. Oh, how my sweet little one has grown. As I wait for my coffee to brew, I lean into the cool morning granite watching as he gathers the ingredients for French bread, or as my mama always called it. Lost bread. I am not sure if that’s something I’ll ever outgrow. Watching my kids, amazed at what they learn and retain. You’d think once they start talking and answering questions, you wouldn’t notice as much, all the tiny things like when they notice the red bird out the window or remember the lyrics to “You Are my Sunshine. But it doesn’t. Ben is six now, and I’m still amazed at the information he recites to me after school. I mean my first-born baby is better at math than I am!

Just as he slides the tub of butter and carton of eggs on to the counter, Lucas walks in rubbing his eyes with a beaming smile after seeing his brother. He had already forgotten about yesterday. He seems cheerful and thankfully well rested. I love the bond they share, and the patience Ben has for Lucas.

“Morning Lucas, wanna help me make mama breakfast? I got your stool out for you.” So gentle with words, he begins the narrate his movements when Lucas doesn’t respond right away.

“Let’s get a few things from the pantry.”

Luc eagerly follows shaking his head yes.

I watch as Ben cracks the eggs onto a bowl and hands Luc the whisk. Together they coat the bread with the gooey mixture until it’s my turn. My butter is already melted on the hot cast iron. The bread sizzles as place each slice flat along the griddle. When it’s time to flip each slice, I notice Ben has already started gathering up our spread of cold ingredients and returning them back to fridge.  A loud burst echoes from behind me and tiny little pricks bite at my bare heals. Lucas. The plates. Quickly I twist around, carful not to move my feet from the floor. Shards of thick ceramic glass pool around his feet like water. Paving the floor like steppingstones to me.

“Ben, baby. Listen to mama. Don’t move.” But in all the fear and panic he doesn’t hear a word. The soles of feet wrap around each shard of glass in his path as e rans to me. Choosing not to feel the pain, I step forward. God let me take this pain, not my children.

“Ben baby, you alright? Stay there, mama is coming for you too.”

After placing Lucas on the counter, I sweep a path to Ben on my tippy toes. Careful not to push any glass deeper into my feet. Blood smeared my kitchen tiles like a red and white abstract painting.

“Mama, I’m scared.”

“I know, I’m coming”, scooping him up from the corner of the kitchen he squeezed my neck, wrapping his legs around my waist like a young monkey as I quickly tip toe back to Lucas. Sitting him on the counter, both boys tug at my shirt, red faced, and tear stained. I know in that moment words wouldn’t matter, they needed comfort. So, I waited.

Filling the sink with warm water, I dip his feet in gently washing away the blood to find all the cuts. There was one decently sized gash along the arch of his left foot and a few small cuts on the heel of his right. Ben’s feet were fine and mine weren’t in the best of shape but bearable. Once dry, feet and eyes. I hand the boys the bowl of French toast toppings to munch on. Candied pecans and fresh cut berries. Breakfast was served picnic style. Sitting Criss cross applesauce, with bare feet and PJ’s sharing one big plate on the island.

“Mama?”, Ben questioned from the door jam of our small in-home office. “Can Lucas and I play catch outside?”

“Uh, sure Love just give me a few minutes to clear out some of the old paperwork. I don’t want you boys outside by yourself.”