thin air and little faces

Sometimes the air is too thin.  I take multiple deep breaths only to find my air supply wanting.  It trickles into my lungs like coins being tossed into a fountain.  Spreading out its minimal treasure with disappointed illumination.

Perhaps air isn't enough.

Sometimes it takes an army of resources to fill my lungs with enough life to sustain me.  It takes time.  A compassionate embrace.  Words that softly empower me.  And tears.

Tears and air and kindness.

But I'm afraid my boys are the only remedy to my loss of air.  The tears, air and kindness are just bandaids where there should be stitches.  I feel like I am having to create purpose where there is none.  I miss their little faces.

Not being the one who hears about their days, who kisses their scrapes and cuts, who fixes them dinner/lunch/snacks, who does their laundry and puts them to bed every night is insanely difficult to swallow.

Sometimes life is made in the difficult...Character is developed when there are trials...Purpose is found in desperation.  Right???

The air is too thin for me to think clearly.