Navel Gazing

Time Alone

Eventually, Nina and I ended our relationship and other than a few cursory conversations of no real substance, have not heard from or seen each other again.

I took the breakup hard and spent the next two years alone with my kids, and thoughts. I walked countless miles along the Neoponset riverfront.  It was an ingrained habit from past, an activity that started for physical fitness, and is now outweighed by its mental health benefits.  Time spent walking cleared the fog from my head. My confidence was slowly regained and I strived to see the positive in life again. Self-reflection led to self-forgiveness, and allowed me to move forward. 

I attempted to account for actions taken in my marriage, where I placated and ignored my way through the harsh reality, and hid behind imagery of what I pretended our lives to be, until for me, hiding became unbearable.  There's no escaping the fact that Samantha counted on my commitment, and when needed it most, I failed her. For years I avoided difficult actions that would have resulted in hurtful consequences; but, by facing head-on would at least have dealt honestly with the reality of our situation. 

These last years, I've done my best to help her, where I can, without overstepping the boundaries of an ex-spouse. She will always be my children's Mother, and in that role, forever a part of my life. She continues her battle with depression, and for that there is no simple solution, just an ongoing challenge, that for the sake of herself and family, I hope she will continue her therapy and medication regimen. 

Disappointment could not have been avoided.  Postponing all those years, though, only amplified the hurt for all, not the least of which my children, who remain a constant in my life. They are the single greatest source for my love and pride; and, fear and frustration too, as I've come to realize I have no real control over their choices.  I am an example of both good and bad, but in either case, a model for them to learn from and to make informed decisions as they maneuver through their own lives.

Near the end of his life, I received a gift from my father.  My family gathered together at my sister and brother-in-law's house.  It was a beautiful morning, and the three of us: me, younger brother Mike, and Dad; enjoyed the weather, as we sat on the front porch and talked.  Most the talking was between me and Mike, while Dad, bundled in a blanket, soaked in the sun and just listened. 

I don't remember the exact conversation, just two brothers catching up and talking about recent events, stuff with our kids.  Dad surprised us though with sudden emotion, and through his tears he praised us for being good dads.

I knew he was proud of all of us, but something in the tears and praise echoed of regret. I put my arm around him and told him, 'I don't know what you're thinking about Dad, but you're a great father.'

I've always been in awe of my Dad's intelligence, and valued his consistent and rational advice. I miss our long phone conversations, but have to admit more often than not, a feeling afterward that I had kept him talking longer than he was comfortable. On that beautiful sunny day though, when speaking from my heart, the tables were turned, and it was me who consoled him, and believe it was exactly what he needed to hear.

I called it a gift from my Father because, as any dad would comprehend, if knowing how much his son needed to say that to him, it would've filled his heart to know he provided the opportunity.

[Rest in peace Dad]