Our Hearts On His Sleeve

For anyone who knows me - even a little bit - I superficially come across as sarcastic, mildly opinionated and somewhat aloof. The sarcasm is for my own amusement. The opinions are primarily reserved for people and things I can only describe as silly. But my aloofness is personal. It papers over a facade that is actually deeply nostalgic and sentimental.

As I have passed over the hump of my 40's, this gene is more and more dominant. Oh sure, I've always been able to sneak out a tear or two while watching an emotional movie or listening to a moving passage of music (damn you, Yo-Yo Ma), but over the past few years daily life seems to have served up more and more tissue opportunities.

So - why now?

I once described becoming a parent with these words - The moment that tiny, fragile child emerges and fills you with speechless awe, you realize that you are no longer the most important person in your own life. A little overdramatic? Sure. Not always accurate? Definitely. But true nonetheless? Absolutely.

Life is full of defined chapters. For those people who love and cherish my son - one chapter is approaching its end - his time amongst us. In the fall he will be on the campus of Boston University. A Terrier. We will all deal with this end and beginning differently. For me, as a divorced father, this chapter has had more than its share of emotional upheavals - and certainly a primary source of my growing sentimentality.

My son's mother and I split when he was only five years old. While I have never left his - or his sister's - life, the stages of sadness to acceptance that a non-custodial parent goes through ebb and flow from day to day, month to month, even year to year. This is not a pity grab. There are too many people just like me who can clearly recall some very dark days to think that I am in any way unique. Instead, it's a testament to what people can adjust to when they are faced with no other alternative.

Kid drop-offs used to be tough. The part of parenting that felt like taking two emotional steps backward. Just when I thought the scar tissue had become completely impenetrable, a long look at my kids walking up the driveway would send me tumbling, sometimes for days. A momentary backslide to be sure, but a powerful reminder of the hold children have on our hearts. 

And then about two years ago - ironically at another drop-off - a remarkable truth flooded my consciousness. Fighting the admission would have been understandable, even expected. Instead, it gave me a measure of peace that I had been vainly searching for for over a decade.

I am fiercely, quietly proud of my children. They never cease to amaze me. And it is precisely because of this that I was able to absorb and accept this new truth as I waved goodbye to them, another brief interlude in front of me until we would spend time together again.

The truth I realized is that my children would not have been better off if their mother and I had stayed together. Not better - probably not worse either - just different. I know not everyone can say this. Things get ugly and stay ugly. Power struggles go on and on, the kids as rope being pulled back and forth in an endless tug of war. Oh sure, this went on for a while - we're human after all - but it was no way to live forever. Does accepting this truth mean that I am content spending most nights without them under my roof? No, never. But these two realities don't have to be in competition with one another to exist. They simply are what they are.

I have gone on record stating that divorce has frayed the fabric of our culture. Not a real leap, I realize. And despite what I've written - I stand strongly by that opinion. Sometimes I think maybe our kids were just lucky, but I know there was more in play than mere luck. Their enduring happiness is that proof.

So, as my son starts a new chapter this fall I realize how lucky I have become, and on two fronts. First, I was able to accept - with time to spare - that our divorce didn't wreck them - not even close. This has allowed me to move forward with my life unfettered by guilt and remorse, and as a result, enjoy the time I have with my kids - their trials and triumphs - without lingering sadness or pain. Yes, they still carry a wound too, and some measure of that wound shapes who they are, but it clearly was not fatal.

Lastly and gratefully, I have recognized that there are strength in numbers. My kids have so many people who love them, who are there for them, who they can count on.  Drew will carry that knowledge, that strength - as well as our hearts on his sleeve - with him as he begins the next new chapter of his life.