First School Play

My son’s first play turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. As a matter of fact, I didn’t expect it to be hard at all, but it was emotional. To be there, so close, but still separated. My ex doesn’t want me around, she barely speaks to me unless necessary. So I’m sitting two rows back from my son as he plays with my ex, her mom, her brother and some other of her friends before the show. I’m alone and it’s painful to be near him, but not actually with him. But I’m here and willing to go through that pain because it’s not about me, it’s about him. My wonderful son. He’s awesome and adorable. I guess like anyone would describe their kids, but he’s mine so he’s special to me. I sit here with tears in my eyes. I can finally see why some divorced men would avoid this, it feels like failure. Like I’m failing to raise my son. I’m trying, but right now, in this moment, this is as far as I can get. I suppose I could force myself into the situation, but is it worth the hell I’ll get from my ex? I don’t know, because it will be hell. So I endure. I feel like there’s a bubble in my chest that’s about to burst, and if it does, the tears will flow. So I hold it together.

I watch my son jump into his mom’s lap and she gives him a raspberry on his cheek. He loves her and I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to take that relationship away from him, it’s important. At the same time I feel like part of that is being taken away from me.

Pain turns to anger. I feel like I’m being pushed to the sidelines of my son’s life. Is this what it’s going to be like as my son grows up? Always watching from the outside because his mom doesn’t want me near? I breathe through the anger. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m there for him when he needs me. I’m here, I’ve let him know. His need of emotional support is more important than my desire to not feel emotional pain. I’ve learned how to manage my emotions as an adult. Now is the time to help him, to be there for him. To the best of my ability I will ALWAYS be there for him. I can’t hold onto the anger. I won’t. It’s toxic. I have more important things/places to put my energy. Holding onto anger is toxic for me and I won’t live there. I will choose love. I will love my son, I will love my friends and family. To the best of my ability, I will even try to love my ex. That’s a tough one, but I’ll try. I’ll try because it’s not about me, it’s about a small child I chose to help bring into this world. My child. My son. I’ll do it because he’s worth it, and love is the answer.

My son’s part of the play ends. I’m so proud of him. He was singing so loud I could hear him over the other kids. I don’t know if I’m supposed to or not, but I’m proud of him all the same. I watch as my son runs back to his mom and gives her a hug. Then something amazing happens.

My son looks to the back and says, “Daddy? Dad? Where’s my dad?” I raise my voice over the crowd and say, “Right here, buddy!” He sees me and his face lights up. He runs the two rows back and gives me a big hug. I hug back and tell him he did a great job, that he should be proud of himself. He jumps into my lap, his back snuggled against my chest. I wrap my arms around him, letting my cheek rest softly against the top of his head and we watch some more of the play. This is why I come and sit through my own discomfort. If I weren’t able to shift through my own emotions, to deal with them in a healthy manner, I would have missed out on this moment.

Rage, Pain, and Sadness….Or, A Touch of Grey

Today, I signed the documents that will finalize my divorce and custody agreement for my son. It’s been a rough few months, and I realize now what’s been bothering me all this time. Why I’ve retreated a little from life…why I haven’t blogged in so long…or written anything…at all. It’s been tough to get out of bed, pay my bills, keep in touch with friends, maintain a healthy eating schedule. Pretty much anything that I “should” be doing. And then it all comes crashing down at once what is bothering me.

I’m a processor. It’s how I deal with life. Sometimes it’s fairly slow, as it was this time, and sometimes it’s, well, less slow. Oh, well. It’s who I’m am. I usually figure out what’s bothering me within two days. I’m ok with that. Or at least I’ve come to accept that is how I work.

So I signed the paperwork and talked with my lawyer for a bit. He kept assuring me about what I was signing and said things like, “this is really the best deal you could have hoped for,” and “this agreement will protect your rights as a father.” It all sounds good, even though I have some misgivings, but I’m really just glad to have everything over. As I walk out of his office, I really want to have a beer. I don’t want to get drunk, I generally don’t feel that urge anymore, but just one beer to take the edge off. The problem is that it’s 10 AM and any place I’d want to go is closed. I’m also not going to go home and drink, and I’m too impatient to sit around and wait for some place to open up. See, I’ve become very aware of when, and why, I drink. Sometime I get these urges to go against what I think is right, but I also think the universe conspires to help us, if we pay attention. I did. Instead of going and having a beer I decided to go home and meditate, to simply feel what I’m feeling. Feelings aren’t good or bad, they just are, and I want to be in touch with mine as much as possible. I think that’s one way to truly enjoy life and not hide from it.

I start driving home and get about a mile into the 40 minute drive when I have a moment of catharsis. Ok, I started sobbing uncontrollably. And it’s possible it lasted for more than a moment. My lawyer’s words repeat in my head again and again, “best deal” in particular. Best deal? Are you fucking kidding me? On the one hand, I do believe him. I heard the same thing from him, another source, and a mediator. And it tells me how fucked up Illinois is for father’s rights. Best deal? What the fuck? Fuck you! Right now, I have my son every other weekend and then from 6-8 PM one night a week. My lawyer and the mediator both assure me that’s how Illinois does it. But “best deal.” Fuck. 

I do the math. I don’t know why, but I do. If I have my son every other weekend that means I see him for 26 of the 52 weeks, or for a total of 52 days a year. Out of 365. Best deal. Fuck you. Oh wait, I forgot about the mid-week times I have him. Add two hours times 52 weeks, the that’s 104 additional hours, or another 4.33 days…

I fucking hate this state, I hate it’s law makers, I hate that I’m here, I hate the fucking winter cold. I hate that I’ve spent 8 months here, sent out hundreds of resumes, and only had one interview. Now, I want to go get drunk. I want to go fuck my brains out, I want to beat the shit out of someone. Something, anything, not to have to feel this fucking crap. I fucking hate everyone and I fucking hate everything. And right now I especially, especially, hate the fact that somewhere, deep inside me, there is a small, rational part that sees the lesson in all of this. I don’t want to be rational. I want to rage. I want to fuck shit up.

But my drive home isn’t over yet. That small part of me gets louder. The fact that music is playing on the radio starts to register. A Touch of Grey by the Grateful Dead comes on. Music has often soothed my soul, and it does so now. I know that life isn’t bad or good. How much time I have with my son isn’t bad or good. I can be a good father to him with what little time I have. It’s the quality moments that really matter. And right now I see him more than when I lived in California and he was in Illinois. I need to keep things in perspective, because, really, there are a couple ways this can go.

I can keep this anger and resentment, I can hold it tight. In the end, though, who really gets hurt? I’ve heard it said that holding resentment is like taking poison yourself, hoping someone else dies. So, in this scenario, the only people I’m hurting is myself, and then my son. That’s not ok with me. Another option is to accept that this is how it is, for now. It won’t always be like this. My son will grow up, situations will change. He’ll be able to make his own choices. And from what I hear, it will happen fast. Crap, it feels like he was born just the other day. Right now my job is to be the best father to him I can be, to keep myself sane and healthy, to keep him safe, and to be there for him when he needs me. And he will need me.

The song ends. My tears have, mostly, stopped. I don’t like the situation, but I can accept it…and look for ways that I can change it in the future. The key is acceptance. By accepting it, I don’t rage against it. I don’t hold on to it and get depressed, or want to drink or engage in any other myriad of distractions that humans can use to “help” us get through. To me, it’s just one more step to being fully present. And that’s how I choose to live my life.