The bag of apples

This place and this time are probably the hardest for me to handle.  This house that I used to call mine has been filled with pain and confusion and miscommunication for so long that it is painful to sit here alone after the boys go to sleep.  The memories that creep over me are of good and bad times.  I feel the loneliest here. I have felt lonely here before, but never quite alone.  If I could curl up with my boys to ease the pain, I would.  But that doesn't help them adjust or me move on.
This place also still  give me such great moments of joy.  As I was tucking the boys in to sleep, I stood by Jacob's bed.  We had been talking about the separation while we cuddled before bed, and he wanted to try to understand more.  We talked about all the different aspects of what was happening and what we could do to help ourselves feel better while we were going through it.  He and I have talked about my journal before, and  before I left I gave him his own.  We started talking about why it was important for us to journal.  He, like myself, can easily get caught up in his own head.  I explained to him that if we didn't find a way to get the bad stuff out that it could hurt us.  I described it as a bag of apples.  I told him that if we bought a bag of apples and in the middle, where no one could see, was a bad one it could spread it's fungus to the rest of the apples in no time at all.  I explained that maybe the person who bagged the apples put it in the middle because if we saw that bad apple we wouldn't want the whole bag.  Maybe they thought that we would think they were stupid for putting that bad apple in there to begin with.  I explained that why or how the apple got there wasn't important.  We just needed to get the apple out of the bag so there would be room for more good apples.  After about 15 min he said, "Daddy, I have a bad apple that I haven't gotten out yet."  He went on to explain that when I first moved it would hurt him too much to even think about writing that down. We talked about his bag of apples for quite a while.  It was so joyous to know that by the end of it, he had a way to explain to me or his mother that he needed our help dealing with some of these apples.  And he had a real understanding that I believe it is my job to help him get rid of the apples that are too big and ugly for him to handle alone.
Every week I look forward to my time with my boys, and moments like these make me understand that if I couldn't talk about my bag of apples with him, he would never be able to talk about his bag of apples with me.  This is where the pain yields some fruit (no pun intended) in the form of strength and openess.
I wish for them to experience all happiness and the root of all happiness.