As I carve the thirty-second notch in this thing you call a life, I'm reminded of the only thing that keeps me going. They should be with me right now, but the mental illness still wanders these halls at night, something I cannot subject my children to. Her illness can't effect them, it does enough damage to the rest of us.
How will they see me years from now? How will they remember their father?
The failure I feel like? Or will I manage to give them at least one thing to respect?
I love them both so much, I hope they know that. Even as my last name is erased from history, I hope they keep a small piece of me in their hearts.
Traces of my presence can be felt, I hope, in the hearts if those that have actually known me. Fragments of me are left behind in what I've chosen to share with the world. This all sounds very sad, but you're just reading it wrong. I wear suach a grin when I manage to leave this prison of a house, you'll only see me wear a smile.... When you see me.
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