The souring of sweet with bitter

Sometimes I really can’t tell whether it’s just the depression, or if I’ve just become a jaded, grumpy, bitter pessimist.

Today was my daughter’s 8th grade graduation. A happy occasion.

And I’ve tried my best to focus on the happy parts… The proud parts… The achievement… That we have made it this far…

And I know this is where my focus is supposed to be.

But it’s so frustrating when that’s not where my mind and my heart want to stay.

Because it feels rather bittersweet.

It feels like I’ve let her down in so many ways.

Thinking back, I never would have expected that all this way down the line, her starting high school, that things would still be this hard. That things wouldn’t have gotten better.

That I’d still be in a job that does not particularly have any real hope of being any sort of long term career… Instead of somewhere nice and stable and comfy financially.

I sat through the ceremony, hearing all the large families and crowds of supporters, and feel like I’ve failed her that it’s just me, my former stepdad who sees her about 3 times a year only when she pesters him enough, and my mom who i think only really came for the chance to sit and gossip about former friends in whispers with her ex husband.

But then, since mom didn’t come to any of my junior high scuff, or even my graduation, i have to admit even this is an improvement.

As the other kids in her class host big graduation parties in expensive places and fancy houses… I realize that I’d likely not even be able to do that for a high school graduation for her.

I know that I’ve done what I could with the cards that I had… But sometimes… Sometimes it just shows how vast the gap is between what life is, and what I expected it would be by now.

And while I’m glad that she got pulled off afterwards by so many friends families insisting that they needed pics with her, I know from my own experience that it’s just not the same as your own.

I’d post a nice little pic here of me and her, by ourselves, our own little family..

But there weren’t any.

And never are.

I’m the one who takes the pics, who holds the 5 inch chunky heels that got uncomfortable and hauls around the clutch and all sorts of other stuff that is in the way… the one that is busy coordinating summer plans with the other parents as a social secretary. Not the one that you want to have pictures with.

But the part of it that gets me of that… Is that I’m the only one who ever noticed that the only pics of kiddo and I together that exist are generally from concerts.

It would have been nice to have someone else on the planet that cared enough about both of us to want one too.

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