I look at the pictures from five years ago and a warm, oozing feeling slowly starts to turn into a thumping in my chest, and then in my throat.  They are babies.  She is three and a half, her cheeks still chubby with baby fat.  He is only two-months old, his round head a reflection of his even rounder little belly.  They are cuddled up together on her toddler bed.  The feeling of warm nostalgia that started in my stomach has now turned into full on grief.  And I am choking on my tears. Barely able to breathe, I remember how happy I used to be.

This morning I yelled at her for being slow. I screamed, “What’s wrong with you?”  She looked at me with quiet rage, defying me with her eyes, “Nothing mom.  Nothing is wrong with me.  What’s wrong with you?”  Her brother was next on my hit list.  He spilled juice all over himself and the chair.  “Stop!  Just stop!  Why can’t you just be normal?”  His eyes weren’t filled with the quiet rage of his sister’s – his eyes only looked shameful and sad. My inner monster seemed to be out of her cage – poking the children, checking to see if they are ready to be eaten.  Hansel and Gretel’s parents released them into the woods, but for all we know, their mother could have been that God-damned witch.  She was so fucking hungry after all.  The monster that I am walks them to the bus stop.  They clamber onto the yellow school bus, which looks as big as a rocket ship.  His tiny head just barely clearing the window.  I mouth to him, “Buckle your seat belt.”  I see him struggle for a minute.  Then he looks up, gives me a thumbs up sign, smiles his biggest, best smile and mouths to me, “I love you mommy!” and he waves vigorously to me until the entire space bus is out of sight.  It breaks my heart into a million little pieces.  He loves me so, and I destroy him a little every day.

It’s 3pm and I’m on Facebook, instead of working on a spreadsheet.  I see this memory from 5 years ago.  I realize that that life is gone.  They will never be that little again.  I will never have another baby to snuggle.  I will never again know the freedom of only having to take care of my children.  I was home on maternity leave with him – his sister went to Preschool.  I played and breastfed and cuddled and held them tight.  I cooked and cleaned and read and rested.  Now I do all of those things, and I run contracts, and I have phone calls, and I answer to a boss, and I deal with clients.  A lot has happened in those 5 years as well – cancer, death, job changes, mental health issues, elder care issues, addiction, friendships lost, lessons learned, heartbreak after heartbreak.  The biggest loss of all being our move to The Shore.  I miss my house.  I miss my neighbors.  I miss my friends.  That sweet memory staring back at me from five years ago is nothing but a nasty reminder of how happy I used to be.

I am grieving the life I used to live.  I am drowning in my rage at all that I’ve lost.  I have set my children free in the woods of my anger, and I am waiting for them to figure out that I am the nasty witch – perpetually hungry, prodding them with my bony fingers, testing their limits, and waiting  –  waiting for them to push me into the oven and burn me beyond recognition. Maybe out of those ashes I could rise again, reincarnated.  Maybe I could be a phoenix. Maybe I could be free.