And so it goes

I recently went to see my good friend Jess sing at a local choir festival, and before she came on stage another choir sang Billy Joel's And So It Goes... It's a sad and beautiful song that I hadn't heard for a thousand years, and I loved the thought of there being a room in every heart... 

A sanctuary safe and strong

To heal the wounds from lovers past

Until a new one comes along.

That's the most magical thing about having your heart broken – someone new does eventually come along and life starts moving in unexpected directions, reminding you that not everything lasts forever and sometimes the worst thing that ever happened to you was actually the best thing. 

Ode to a single father

There’s a new book out called Single Father, Better Dad (by Mark Tucker), and it got me thinking back to my childhood and reflecting on the great wonder of my own Single Father – a larger-than-life character with an amazing passion for life. 

Dad wasn’t an exemplary husband – he was wild and irresponsible, and he liked the good times to roll on and on (just some of the reasons Mum left him when my sister and I were little). But he was a fabulous father. 

Way back when divorced parents were a rarity among my peers and ‘single dad’ wasn’t yet common terminology, my sweet Dad was leading the way. He cared little for worldly possessions and money was scarce, but he gave my sister and I the greatest gift of all – every single ounce of his spare time. 

Each Saturday without fail he would swing by and collect us in his work van, and we would help him deliver ice-creams and spread his good cheer to all the shops dotted around our outback town. 

Sunday afternoons Dad would pick us up again for our regular family roast with our Croatian grandparents and cousins, after which we’d do the rounds of the neighbourhood, stopping in at countless houses for a chat – to the point where we knew pretty much every living soul in the south part of town.

He’d take us to his favourite football club or to watch the Croatian community gather for a game of bocce or a celebration of some kind. Then, as we got older and occasionally stayed with Dad overnight, he would think up all sorts of mischief for the three of us to get up to… Like scaling the fence of the local pool for a midnight swim, or breaking into a mate’s backyard to give his prize birds a taste of freedom. He'd even let us cut his hair – something I definitely had no talent for.

There were no curfews if we wanted to go to a party, he had no problem with us going to nightclubs way before we should have been and we could tell him absolutely anything, knowing there would be no judgement and little consequence. It was pretty much like hanging out with an oversized kid – one with an extremely sharp wit, an endless thirst for fun, a car and all the friends you could ever want.

Whenever we parted Dad would throw his arms around us and openly declare his great love – it was a beautiful thing that came so completely naturally to him.

... It's all kids need.

I still have the countless letters he sent when I was all grown up and travelling the world. They’re handwritten in his signature upper-case style and signed off with a giant hand-drawn heart emblazoned with the words ‘I LOVE YOU’, and they will be forever treasured. 

It’s been almost 13 years since that big-hearted man made his grand departure, packing the local cathedral to the rafters with just about everyone he had ever met, and I can still hear his bellowing laugh and feel that boundless love. If X and I have made our sons feel even half as loved as me and my sister, then I would argue that a large part of our job is done. 

Dad certainly had his flaws, and I can’t say whether or not it was being a single father that made him a better dad. But having so much time with him sure made his finest qualities shine as bright as a million stars, and my sister and I can never talk about him without laughing out loud.

LOVE YOU, DAD. MISS YOU. xxx

A small message of hope

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming. – Pablo Neruda

He loved me not

“Why do you want to be with a man who’s telling you he’s not in love with you?”

Posed by my counsellor after my first few sessions with her, this was the question that completely woke me from my post-separation stupor.

                                                                             Image: Source unknown.

I had never had any counselling before, and I felt awkward and self-indulgent and vulnerable at first, but my counsellor was so gentle and kind and knowing that her bright and sunny room soon became a beautiful sanctuary. Being able to talk so freely about myself was a revelation in itself, and – after being in a relationship for so long – I was pretty keen to make some sense of my unwanted new reality. 

On the first few visits she listened intently as my heart was bleeding out, and now it was obviously time to shake things up and give the conversation a whole new direction. Her question seemed so obvious, yet I hadn't considered it at any point.

Apart from the fact that I desperately didn’t want our sons to follow in my footsteps and hail from a broken home filled with fractured hearts, I didn’t really have a worthy answer. But even when the session ended, I couldn’t get that question out of my head and it marked a turning point as far as my heartbreak was concerned. 

Really, why would anyone want to be with someone whose actions have stated loudly and clearly that love has left the building? And, more specifically, why would I want to be with someone that was prepared to completely betray my trust and tear our lovely little family apart? 

That single question made such an impact that it stays with me still, and I think it’s something we should all ask the young men and women in our lives to ponder as they start entering into relationships. Hopefully it will go some way to teaching them the importance of loving themselves over and above all others.