Sunday, Bloody Sunday

I wonder how many other people have this as the title of their blog entry for today? Sundays are never my best day. My son goes back to his dad on a Sunday, before the morning has barely started, leaving me bereft when I should be taking advantage of the day stretching out in front of me. Sunday sees me alone when I need to be with people, but that's never the way it works, is it? If I were talking to a friend, I'd tell them of how wondrous it must be, to have a day to spend as they choose. But mothers around the world, whose children aren't with them on Sundays, know better than that. They know how your heart stops you from living, when it's the only thing that keeps you alive.