You take our son out on clear nights to stargaze ... and to talk. A ritual repeated countless times these many years. Son most often prefers to play in the night breezes than to gaze at stars, or to talk. You let him play … and smile lovingly. He is our legacy. Ours. Together.
You prepare our meals. Several, each and every day. You yourself often forget to eat. Or can not eat. Yet you smile lovingly at us while we eat, and ask, "What else can I get for you?"
You take care of the house, inside and out, the best you can. But more importantly, you take care of our son. Day in and day out, each and every day. And you do it better than I ever could, for the nurturing gene has always been stronger in you than it ever was in me. I love our son with all my heart and all my soul and with all that I am. But you embody nurturing love - you make it come alive. I express the depths of my love in practical action: providing, teaching, leading, and in being the one strong enough to give structure and solid boundaries for us all.
Both forms of love are needed. Both of us are needed.
You arise at 4am each morning, just to let our dogs out. Simply because that’s when they want to go out. And because you want me to sleep that half-hour before I have to get up.
And without fail, each and every morning, you have my coffee waiting for me when I arise.
You’ve made Sunday mornings at our home a wonderful, comforting, cozy oasis of delicious aromas because you get up way before daybreak to prepare Sunday breakfast for our church.
Why?
Because you care that much for them. To you it matters not if they care for you. All that matters is that you care for them.
But they do care. They do appreciate. And they have always accepted. They have proven to you, and also to me, that this can be done. That it is possible to accept with open arms, without judgment, without expectation and with no private agenda. They have taught us both the peace that comes from being “others” centered vs. “me” centered.
You've always been there for me, no matter what. You seem deaf to my screaming and yelling. Unperturbed by my unpredictable moods. Unflinching in the face of truly horrific language spewing from my mouth when I am enraged. Undaunted at the repeated, and mostly undeserved, verbal abuse I continually aim directly at you.
Because you know --
that you will also --
be profoundly touched --
by the depths of my heart.
The heart that urges me to rescue lost babies. Or that cries inconsolably at movies. Or that is bruised by the cruelties of mankind. Or that allows me to hold our grandchildren in tender and rapt awe.
And speaking of crying - do you not realize that I have heard your sobs because you can no longer earn a paycheck? I know these are not tears of self-centered pride. They are tears of indignant rage. Rage that you can no longer take care of your family. And they are hot, insulted tears born of knowing others secretly suspect you of manipulative deceit - or worse.
For as long as I have known you, you worked no less than two jobs. More often it was three jobs. Always it was 7 days a week. Just to take care of us.
Have you forgotten?
I have not.
Have you forgotten that it's only because of the Great Fall you are unable to work? Have you forgotten that medical doctors, more than one, have signed legal documents declaring you 100% disabled, and completely unable to work? And yet – you tried. Time and time again. Defying doctors. And me. Only to be betrayed. Betrayed by your failing body and damaged mind.
Have you forgotten?
I have not.
Did you think I did not know, on that trip to Breckenridge, how the thin altitude painfully robbed your lungs and frail body of precious oxygen? Just as you knew it would. And still you went. Just so you could be near us?
Or again, when we took our son to his first mountain summer camp experience? And then - just one week later - back up those cruel mountains to get that exuberantly happy, but somehow much more mature son? Do you think you successfully hid from us, either of us, your pain and gasping lungs?
Do you honestly think we did not, do not, understand...
Why
You
Did
It?
And yet, despite all this and so much more, I have had to tell you I can no longer love you. That while I so deeply respect your courage in the face of unspeakable and unrelenting pain, that while I honor and am humbled by how deeply you love our son, our dogs, our home and even me – I can no longer love you. For I can not love where trust can not abide. I tried. I tried so hard, and for so long. You know I did. I forgave lie after lie, and I forgave the times (more than one) when your financial irresponsibility ruined us. I tried so very hard to teach you financial responsibility, and to teach you how not to lie. You did learn how to not lie. But we both, painfully and slowly, came to realize that you could never learn financial responsibility. Not because you did not want it. Rather, because of a mind damaged from oxygen depriving heart attacks too numerous to count. I have come to understand and accept that you never intended to ruin us financially. You simply had no way of learning not to. I could not teach you. Nor could I possibly anticipate every scenario, every eventuality. My only option was to divorce you. To keep our son and myself safe.
Because I can not love where trust can not abide.
When I told you I could no longer love you, you smiled tenderly and told me you understood. You told me it mattered not that I could no longer love you - you still did, and would always love me. With great sadness you touched my cheek and said your only regret was in failing me.
And so, though I could no longer love you, I did (and do still) care about you. But more importantly, you and I have always had one very important thing in common. To us - Family Is Everything. So I made a decision. Me alone. My decision. Despite the divorce, we would stay together as a Family. You would not be alone, but more to the point, you would continue to be a Dad to our son.
We both know what this decision has cost me. So be it. All is forgiven, and I am at peace. At long last, I have the family I have longed for since childhood. As with most things longed for, it is no where near perfect, nor anywhere near what I’ve always pictured in my mind. But it is exactly what it is supposed to be. And I am grateful.
