My children's father

My posts as of late have been peppered with references to him. It has been almost four years since he talked with the kids, longer since he's seen them and I found him on My Space.

I wrote earlier that we had heard from his son--the one he put up for adoption 19 years ago. This confrontation, of sorts, prompted me to talk with the kiddos about their dad--were they even still interested in knowing him, talking to him, seeing him?

Resounding YES.

Before I could even ask my questions, their answer was yes.

I was determined to find him, for them and partly, in a way, sort of, for me. I don't remember making it easy for him--and by that, I don't mean I stood in the way or didn't pick up the phone or limited his visits. I mean, I didn't make it easy for him. He's a certain sort of guy--passionate and deep and because of his life story, vulnerable to emotional panic or withdraw.

I was typical--I constantly asked about child support, reminding him of his financial obligations to the children he fathered, reminding him that I was not the only parent, that he had to assume some level of responsibility, that he should be just as concerned for their well-being as I was, that he had to be consistent. Blah, ex-wife, mother-of-his-children, blah.

Mind you, he has NEVER paid child support of any significance. The first year of our separation, my attorney had child support and alimony drafted from his income every pay day but after that year, I have maybe received a total of $300.00 from him for the last 7 years of their lives. I'm here to tell ya, I've spent a bit more than that on raising them.

Anywho--in resurrecting him from absent-father land, I resolved to let it go. He's never going to assume any level of responsibility for them, much less financial, and he's never going to take their care as seriously as I do. Bottom-line.

In the wake of my conversation with the kiddos about finding their father, I began talking to them about him, this man they knew only through faded memories of their own, pictures embodying their disconnect and what I passed along.

It suddenly became important to me that they know they came from love--regardless of what happened to him and I later down our road, they were of love. A deep, passionate love between two people desperate for each other at one time.

In retelling these stories to them, I think I became attached to a memory of him from then. My emotions were hard to categorize, they were blurred and out of context.

In my defense, I never got closure in our relationship. One day he came home from work, 8 hours late, and said he was leaving--we needed a divorce. My world crashed--I was at the lowest place I'd ever been and sinking with every action he took toward leaving us behind. He never looked back.

I didn't think I was going to surface from that--I had meaningless sex with meaningless people, drank too much, ate too little and damn near lost my will to mother my children. It was a long road back for me from that period of my life.

Then, finally, closure.

After reconnecting with their dad for about two weeks over the phone, I invited him to come stay in my home (because I knew he couldn't afford a hotel) and spend time with the kiddos for the weekend.

I stayed close. No way was I trusting him alone--after this long, I don't even know him.

We watched movies, went to little man's play--all three shows--and they slept together on the futon. I knew how important that was to them.

Saturday, when we were driving home from the last play of little mans, I asked their father to go walking with me when we got home. I needed a walk and wouldn't dare walk alone after dark.

While walking he told me that he was sorry for the way he left--he said I didn't deserve that and it's bothered him every since.

Closure.

Closure is such an odd thing really and, in the end, unnecessary. I didn't need him to take responsibility in order to know already that he had been wrong. But I can honestly say, that I just got over my divorce last year, the process and the experience that is, I've been over our lost love for longer.

But it took me that long to mourn, to mourn him, to mourn for the interuption to our family, to long for him, hate him and forgive him and to redefine my new family. In forgiving him, I think I thought I loved him like I did then but that wasn't it at all. I love him in a new way. I love him as a human being not strong enough to take the first step toward his children without me. I love him because they love him and because they resemble him and because they have certain characteristics of his--she has the shape of his face, he has his eyes. She has his toes and he has his dimples.

How could I look at them everyday, loving them everyday and harbor ANY resentment or ill-feelings toward him?

I couldn't reconcile it in my heart.

So his acceptance of blame and expression of remorse was a seal on my heart, already pieced back together nicely. And his visit was a firm reminder that I've already walked that road--the scenery hasn't changed, the path has crumbled through the years making it even more treacherous and my destination is transcendental now because the theme of my living is greatness.

I am more.