Letting go

This morning at the breakfast table A began crying.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to go to Daddy's," she whimpered.

I paused. "But you like spending time with Daddy," I said. "And Daddy wants to see you. You have fun with him, don't you?"

"Yes," she replied, "but I miss Mommy."

I can't help but feel that I am the mother in the Solomon story who finally lets go. The one whose child is pulled away by force, lest she be ripped apart by it. I feel at this moment, with yet another final version of a settlement offer sent off, that my child has been torn from my arms and my heart has been torn away with her.

E reminded me that this isn't something I can avoid. That doesn't make it easier to accept. My friend HD's words haunt me. She said you can always fight. That I should fight. That I have to protect my daughter.

E said, "But children of divorce don't have a choice. They have to deal with situations like this."

"Yes," I agreed reluctantly, "but neither of us chose this and neither of us want our children to deal with this."

My lawyer said, "I don't think this will go to court. But you know X better than I do."

"Well," I replied, "I really don't. That was my mistake. I never knew him."

The tragedy of this situation is that the beautiful little person in the middle has to pay for her parents' mistake.