Small, beautiful things

A lovely woman I know has just come through treatment for breast cancer that included the removal of one breast and her lymph nodes. Her journey has been gruelling and exhausting, but she told me her daughter did a beautiful thing that made all the difference... She delivered a basket filled with small wrapped gifts to ease the boredom of a long hospital stay. Along with useful items and plenty of podcasts loaded onto an iPod, there were uplifting notes written by my friend's young grandchildren and rolled into miniature scrolls.

As well as being perfect for anyone going through a tough time with their health, this lovely gesture could be applied to many of the challenging scenarios we tend to find ourselves in. Looking back, I would have quite like to have received a 'You're Getting Divorced' gift basket filled with lots of chocolate, a self-help book or 10 and sage words written by my sweet and highly entertaining loved ones.

Pass it on. xxx

(Bitter)sweet 16

My eldest son turned 16 just over a month ago. He’s a lovely boy, easygoing and rock solid, with a wry sense of humour and a strong sense of self.

He is his Dad’s mirror image and has inherited some of X’s finer qualities, but is very much his own young man. I listen to the way he communicates with his mates and it’s clear that he knows how to be a good friend. According to my youngest son, he’s also a pretty cool big brother. 

He’s got a few good female friends but, as far as I know, there isn’t anyone special just yet. Right now he’s way too focused on learning to drive and building on his computer skills so he can follow his desired career path.

He’s got a plan. He’s sensible, trustworthy and even-tempered, and gives me not one ounce of grief. Needless to say, I adore him.

Looking at my boy so grown up and secure in himself has made me think about myself at the same age. I was living in the middle of the outback in a pretty chaotic environment, with alcoholism at its core. My parents were long divorced and my Mum and Stepfather were heading in the same direction. And to make things just a little more testing, I had recently had my first experience of heartbreak.

Along with nursing my aching heart, I spent a lot of my 16^th year fantasising about finishing school and escaping to the city to pursue my dream of being a writer. On weekends I had taken to sneaking out to the local clubs. I was restless and frustrated and wild at heart. I wanted to grow up way before I was ready to and left home way too young.

If I could give a piece of advice to the wide-eyed, small-town girl I once was, it would go something like this:

Stop being in such a hurry… Life unfolds soon enough and suddenly the years start passing at a rapid pace, to the point that you’ll actually want them to slow down.

When it comes to matters of the heart, trust that things will go exactly the way they are meant to and that your truest love will appear out of thin air, when you least expect him to. In the meantime, focus on the really important things – family, friends that will be there till the bitter end, work that makes you happy and travelling to all those faraway places you’ve always dreamed of.

And re the guy that just broke your heart, he will quickly pale into insignificance. His role is to deposit a good dose of resilience deep in your ventricles, to be drawn upon at a later date. When you encounter him again in 30 years’ time, it will be abundantly clear that you made an extremely lucky escape.

What divorce taught me about myself

This post was written for HuffPost Divorce – you can click through to the site here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-doust/what-divorce-taught-me-about-myself_b_7104468.html

We all know that some of life's greatest gifts come from completely unexpected sources. While having my ex-husband leave me for another woman ripped my world apart and temporarily brought me to my knees, it also gave me the opportunity to unearth life skills I didn't even know I had. Apart from the obvious truths to be learned from divorce – love can die, broken hearts can be mended and life goes on – here are five invaluable lessons I wasn't expecting to discover.

I Can Cope With Humiliation
There's no getting around the fact that being left for another woman is an extremely humiliating experience – not least of all because the one being cheated on is often the last to know. My own humiliation peaked when I realised that many of my husband's colleagues knew what was going on long before I did. I felt like a complete and utter idiot. Thankfully, that sinking feeling subsided after I talked to plenty of other people who had been cheated on, read everything about affairs I could get my hands on and understood that I wasn't alone in my oblivion.

I'm an Ultra-Tough Negotiator
When you share custody of young children, knowing how to negotiate is an absolute necessity. My ex and I separated when our two sons were aged seven and 16 months. With roughly 17 years of co-parenting ahead, I quickly determined that there would be a fair amount of negotiating along the way. By visiting a lawyer, I got clued up on my rights and from that point on I toughened up. In the nine years since, my ex and I have had to work our way through countless issues -- such as my decision to relocate over 100 kilometres away with our sons. Let's just say my negotiation skills have been honed, and I can definitely stand my ground when necessary.

Image via www.masonbullock.co.uk

I Know When to Compromise

Seeing the big picture can be challenging when you're in emotional turmoil, but it's another crucial skill to have when you're doing grown-up stuff – like settling property and entering into co-parenting arrangements. In the early days of my separation and subsequent divorce, I soon learned that being willing to compromise on some things would give me some bargaining power down the track. It's a skill my ex and I have both now mastered and graciously apply on a regular basis, especially when it comes to dividing up the school holidays and getting our sons from A to B on weekends.

I Have Zero Fear of Being Alone
Seventeen years is a significant amount of time to be with one person, and it made the concept of being single fairly challenging -- especially as I was aged 41, was freelancing and had two young children in tow. I got used to it though, largely thanks to applying the one-day-at-a-time approach and being able to call on my amazing family and friends around the clock. Now, I think it should be mandatory to spend plenty of time alone post divorce, coupled with regular counseling sessions, particularly in the initial phase. Retreating into my shell for a year and seeking counsel from a woman much wiser than I am gave me the chance to shine the spotlight on my life and where it was headed... something I definitely hadn't done in a ridiculously long time.

I Am Resilient
There's nothing quite like divorce to put your resilience levels to the test. But while resilience is something we all aspire to having, it can only be built by enduring something as personally devastating as the breakdown of a marriage. Even though it took me a long time to recover from my heartbreak, the experience has definitely given me inner reserves of strength and deepened my empathy. When the going gets tough, I know I'm capable of pushing through all obstacles. Plus, I love the fact that I never have to wonder if I can fend for myself and my children, recover from a relationship ending or find love again. These are things I unequivocally know I can do, which is profoundly comforting.

Word up

I haven’t posted for a while but lately I’ve been forced to think about the power of our own words. Here's why…

As 2014 was drawing to a close, I remember very clearly declaring to my partner: 

“2015 is the year I want EVERYTHING to change!”

By everything, I was thinking along the lines of upgrading my career and boosting my financial status. And maybe a new haircut to mark my impending 50^th birthday.

I obviously should have been more specific when I so resolutely released those words into the Universe.

If you read my last post, you’ll know that my car was completely written off on New Year’s Eve as it sat parked in a quiet street in a neighbouring village. I definitely didn’t see that coming but, after a carless month and a day spent dragging my boys around the soulless streets of Sydney’s used-car suburbs, we found the perfect replacement and daily life went back to normal.

A week later the lock on our security screen broke, leaving us unable to get inside our own home one afternoon. The locksmith sorted that out pretty swiftly and I didn’t think anything much of it. Then my standalone cooker short-fused and died in a puff of smoke, never to as much as boil an egg again.

Okay, I thought… That’s three things out of the way. All a bit of a hassle but no great harm done.

Two incident-free weeks passed before I somehow managed to slam my handbag in the car door and smashed the screen on my phone. Still no great harm done but by now I’m just expecting EVERYTHING I touch to turn to dust and require replacement.

Image via themamaproject.com

Then, two Thursdays ago, my youngest son (YS) and I decided to curl up together and watch a couple of episodes of Outback ER – it’s set in my hometown and we’re heading out there for a visit soon, so it seemed relevant (we also both love a good reality ER show).

As we watched events unfold in the hospital where I drew my very first breath, YS pointed out – in an intrigued and almost longing way – that he had never stayed overnight in hospital before. While he wondered out loud what it would be like to be poked with needles and have drips attached to his body, I said the obvious to him: “That’s not something you should ever wish for!”

YS went off to bed and – no word of a lie – an hour later he came back into the living room complaining of severe stomach pain. He was cold and his skin had a greenish tinge, and when I felt his stomach it was tight, just as I remembered mine being when I had appendicitis way back when.

I won’t bore you with every detail, but in short my prognosis was correct. YS had keyhole appendix surgery the next morning and spent the following two days in a public ward at Nepean Hospital, with X and I taking shifts. Needless to say he now has a profound understanding of what it’s like to be in hospital and is pretty clear about never ever wanting to go back to one again (and don't get him started on the food).

As for me, I’ve been sufficiently spooked by recent events and am going to be extremely cautious about what I wish for in the future. 

Thankfully, material goods aside, other aspects of my life are also slowly being replaced. I’m undertaking a bold career move that should positively impact my finances down the track and I’m currently researching potential new hairstyles. Just don’t wish me luck!

End of an era

On New Year’s Eve my car was hit as it sat quietly and innocently out the front of my friend’s house. The damage was so comprehensive that yesterday it was officially written off, and today my dear friend Jacqui headed to the car yard with me so we could remove all my stuff before it gets pulled to pieces and demolished. 

Saying goodbye to the old Honda made me feel kind of sad. I’ve been driving that car for 16 years – X and I bought it when I was heavily pregnant with our eldest son (ES). It’s the car we transported that gorgeous, blonde-haired boy home in from the hospital. 

For endless months the car was the only place where our baby would go to sleep. On many evenings, X and I would grab some takeout, drive around until ES closed those big blue eyes, then park somewhere overlooking the city lights – eating, chatting and gradually adjusting to parenthood.

The Honda took us up north and way out west several times, and it’s also the vehicle we bought our second baby boy home in… Not so long before our relationship went pear-shaped. 

Image: www.unassumingrebel.com

I shed many a tear in that car as my life fell to pieces, and I got to keep it as part of our property settlement. In the years since, it has safely transported me and the boys to and from our current hometown countless times so they can spend weekends with X. 

The three of us have travelled far and wide, enjoyed the company of lots of friends and moved massive pieces of furniture in that car. And – with the exception of a couple of flat batteries – it’s never let us down. It has even played a role in my new beloved’s life, taking him to and from the airport as we conduct our long-distance relationship and explore my corner of the world together. 

It’s silly, I know, but I'm going to miss my trusty silver steed. It’s clocked up almost 250,000 kilometres (reflected in my tragic insurance payout), and really has been there through thick and thin.

So, now I’m seeking a worthy replacement. Something as reliable would be fabulous. Something capable of holding as many memories would be just perfect.

In with the new

Each New Year's Eve I do a small Kabbalah ritual passed on by my counsellor. Best done with a friend or loved one, or even in a group, it involves writing down all the things from the past year that you well and truly want to farewell on one piece of paper, then writing all the things you want to welcome into your life in the New Year on another piece of paper. 

Be clear and focused, and take your time... You want every word to count. 

Now, set fire to the 'Farewell' page and say the following prayer:

May Micha-el be on my right [water];

And on my left Garriel [fire];

Uri-el before me [air];

Behind me Rafa-el [earth].

And over my head, surrounding me, Shekhinate-el.

Keep the 'Welcome' page somewhere safe so you can refer to it during the year. It's always interesting to read over this page at the end of the year and to see what has come to pass.

Have a happy start to 2015 and may your wildest dreams come true. x

A funny thing happened...

On Friday I drove in to the city, did the handover at X’s place and headed a couple of suburbs away to have dinner with some of the team members from FLOW International (the Australian-based aid agency that delivers education and clean water into remote areas of Pakistan, which I'm a part of).

For no particular reason I was sitting at the head of the table, facing the street. At one point I looked out of the window and, at that exact moment, Y – the Other Woman in my life – walked past.

If you haven’t read the majority of my blog posts, you may not know that Y is the woman my ex-husband left me for, going on nine years ago. You may also have missed the fact that Y and I have had NO CONTACT in that time, aside from a couple of emails (the last one dating back to 2009).

Even though I have been dropping my boys to X every second Friday for all these years, I haven’t sighted her – NEVER. NOT EVEN ONCE. And there she was, casually strolling by.

I watched her wander out of view, commented to RC (my great friend and confidant) that I’d just seen Y for the first time since 2006, laughed at how unspectacular it was and immediately returned to discussing the important stuff – where FLOW should consider installing the next water-filtration plant and how long it would take for the food to arrive at our table.

The only remarkable thing about the scenario was that I felt ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. NADA. ZIP.

It was no coincidence. I've been saying to X for the past few months how ridiculous it is that Y has continued to avoid me for so long, and that it will have to change at some point in the near future. The great and mystical Universe clearly agrees.

It’s very obviously time for us all to take a giant leap forward.

So, let's do this. 

Image via www.quotesfrenzy.com

Oh, The Divorces!

Tracey Thorn sums things up perfectly...

And, oh, oh, oh
The honeymoon, the wedding ring
Oh, oh, oh
The afternoon handovers by the swings

                               © 2010 Strange Feeling Records.

That's my boy!

One afternoon last week I was collecting my youngest son (YS) from school when one of his teachers came running up to tell me there had been an “incident” that day.

Allegedly one of the little girls in Year 3 had said to YS’s Best Buddy: “I bet YS’s parents got divorced because of him!” And, thinking he was doing the right thing, Best Buddy passed that message right along.

Apparently there were tears, followed by anger and a significant dose of humiliation, to the point where my boy declared to all of his classmates that he didn’t want anyone knowing his “private business”, so could they please all refrain from EVER talking about his family to anyone.

Once we were in the car and heading home, YS and I did what we always do when stuff happens – we talked it through. What struck me most by that conversation was how kind and insightful that boy is. He’s just turned 10 but is always willing to see things from the other side, even when he’s been hurt.

The first thing he pointed out was that it was “absolutely ridiculous” to think the divorce could ever be his fault:
“I was only 16 months old… And does she know how much you and Dad love me!” he stated with the utmost confidence.

Too right, I confirmed, adding that divorce could only ever be the fault of the adults, not the kids.

He was still feeling embarrassed and reiterated his belief that his family life should be kept private at all times
(I had to choke a little on that – he has no idea I blog and I’m not looking forward to that conversation when it comes).

He also said the divorce was the “worst thing that’s ever happened to me”, so wondered why someone would deliberately say something horrible about “my worst thing”.

Then, after raging for a while, he did what he typically does and turned it all around by saying: “It’s just really sad and awful that she would think something like that at her age!”

His solution, he decided, was to talk to her about it. He wanted to let her know that it was hurtful and humiliating, and he planned to advise her that she had to think before she spoke and not just say silly things that weren’t true – ESPECIALLY to someone’s best friend.

“Hopefully she learns a big lesson,” he added. “She might cry and feel embarrassed, but then she will know exactly how I feel.”

                                                                                  © 2011 What a Music Ltd.

The shock factor

Someone asked me a while back: What was the thing that shocked you most when your husband left you? I’ve been putting my response off for a while, to the point where days of avoidance have turned into weeks. I think I was a little fearful that raising old memories might hurt my heart all over again, but I’m actually sitting here laughing at how ridiculously horrible we can be when we’re parting ways with our partners. If I could give one piece of advice to anyone about to end a relationship and break a heart, it is simply this: Be kind.

That said, here is my answer… 

As any jilted wife will tell you, having your husband leave you for another woman is unbearably painful. There’s the heartbreak and the humiliation to contend with, but there is also plenty of shock value. It really is an experience that just keeps on giving.

There were many things that shocked me when X walked out the door… Firstly there was the initial horror of realising that he had been fully engaged in another relationship for quite some time, to the point where he had obviously been mapping out a whole new life for himself.

Then there was the realisation that our 17-year relationship really was completely over and there would never ever be any going back – X had absolutely no intention of returning and I was officially separated and a single parent.

But the thing that shocked me the most was how he suddenly started treating me as a complete hindrance to his happiness. I was no longer his loving and loyal wife or someone that he cared deeply about; instead I was an insufferable pain who he now had to endure on a regular basis as we began the process of shared parenting and headed down a one-way street toward divorce.

From one day to the next I was quite literally discarded and told by X that he had “transferred” his affections. Apparently I was no longer attractive to him, we had little in common, I was too old for him (there’s a six-year age gap), I was an imperfect mother and I just wasn’t needy enough.

I had been lied to, cheated on and dumped, but it was entirely my fault.

My personal favourite parting comment, however, was that he had NEVER BEEN IN LOVE WITH ME! Obviously those magical feelings he had developed for the girl from work were so overwhelming that the previous 17 years of our lives no longer held any meaning or currency.

He seemed to forget that he had relocated from London to live with me, that we travelled the world together, made lifelong plans, celebrated our marriage on two continents, bought our first home together and were both completely ecstatic when our first son was born. He had also clearly forgotten about the love letters he penned every week when he was overseas studying, and the beautiful things he would make for me when we were apart for long periods.

 

Made on a UK beach by the man who had never been in love with me.

There were times when the situation was just laughable, like when X would arrange for me and our boys to have some “family time” with him, but he’d spend the whole time texting his new love. Needless to say, I put an abrupt end to these pseudo family outings – they were untenable on so many levels and I just didn’t want to spend any more unneccesary time with this man I no longer seemed to know.

My diagnosis was that X had a bad case of being in love with love… A fatal disease that kills good and honest relationships, builds new relationships on sandy foundations and leaves behind a trail of heartbreak and destruction.

All I could wonder at the time was: At which precise moment were his affections transferred? And exactly how long had our relationship been a farce? I remember yelling at him on more than one occasion: "You watched me give birth to your children!"... Not that it made an ounce of difference.

Initially it was excruciating to think I had become nothing more to X than the woman he had children with. This man I had been so devoted to was treating me with absolute contempt and did everything possible to exclude me from his life. But as time passed and the sessions I spent with my counsellor became more focused on me and less on him, the pain subsided. Unexpectedly meeting another man just a year after X left me also went a long way toward piecing my broken heart back together.

Even though my heartbreak had been cured, for a long time it would still hurt whenever X said anything remotely nasty to me – sometimes it still surprises me that he has been quite cruel but seems to live without remorse. I’m of the opinion that he still needs to apologise to me for the way our relationship ended, but am not holding my breath. And as my counsellor so reassuringly said: “The Universe will apologise to you on his behalf.”

Nearly nine years on, my skin has thickened and the impact of X’s words is pretty minimal these days, and nothing about his behaviour really shocks me any more. I’m actually extremely thankful he left me and was so utterly awful in those early days – he made it pretty easy to fall out of love with him and his actions led me directly into the arms of a man more worthy of my heart. The Universe seems to have said sorry in the most perfect way, and I'm willing to accept that.

Love will tear us apart

A moody song (and one of my all-time favourites) on this rainy, windy, crazy day...

                                                                 © Cleopatra Records, taken from YouTube

Enduring love

I've seen this clip a couple of times before and you may have too, but I thought I'd share it anyway. To me it's a beautiful reminder of how deep the river of love runs... Even when you have long moved on.

The background story is that performance artists Marina Abramovic and Ulay (Frank Uwe Laysiepen) had an intense artistic/romantic relationship in the 1970s and '80s. Their 12-year union ended in 1988 with a dramatic gesture – they met in the middle of the Great Wall of China, said goodbye then walked in opposite directions.

After rarely seeing Ulay in the years since, Marina held an exhibition at MoMA (New York) in 2010. As part of her show she sat in silence while members of the public sat opposite her.

This is what happened when Ulay showed up unexpectedly...

Long live love. x

Oh, the pain

Recently I’ve been asked a lot of questions about my divorce and the affair that led us there. So, I'm going to answer those questions one by one…  

WHAT WAS THE HARDEST PART? 
Ask anyone who’s been through a divorce and they will tell you that it’s hard, whether it was a mutual decision or came about as the result of an affair (my scenario). There are lots of difficult things about divorce – the emotional pain, the great sense of failure, the logistical aspects of separating two entwined lives, the general letting go and trying to move forth with your pride and dignity intact. 

I found all of these things just as horrible and gut-wrenching as everyone else who has walked the same path, but for me nothing was harder than having to hand my children over to X knowing they would be spending the weekend with THE OTHER WOMAN. 

I swear that the first few times I had to send my sweet angels off to be in the company of my archenemy, I actually vomited. It felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart a thousand times and I was throwing up chunks of my severely damaged organ. It’s the most violent physical reaction I’ve ever had to anything. 

My counsellor attempted to console me by reminding me that I survived my own parents’ divorce, and that X and Y wouldn’t exactly be playing happy families. But I was utterly inconsolable. I felt like screaming out my own version of Ellen Ripley’s classic line in Alien… “GET AWAY FROM THEM, YOU BITCH.” 

It just didn’t feel at all natural to be handing over my baby, who was only 16 months at the time. The thought of Y holding him or kissing him or trying to mother him in any way was just too excruciating for words.

And knowing that my eldest son (then aged 7) was putting on his bravest face each time he left me was devastating. Every single night for 10 entire months his big blue eyes would pool up as he tried to make sense of why his Dad would want to leave us to go and live with another woman.

I kept reiterating the point that Daddy had left me, not him and his brother. He simply didn't understand and it was so agonising to watch him go through his first experience of heartbreak. He took to painting pictures of his fractured family, where the four of us would typically be standing outside of a house. It was quite literally the house with no heart, and just looking at those paintings still makes me cry.

One of our eldest son's 'divorce' paintings.

It took a very, very long time for me to get to a point where I didn’t feel any pain or fury or despair every time my boys headed off to be with X and Y. It was extremely difficult to accept that I had absolutely zero control over the situation – X had the right to see whoever he wanted when our boys were with him, and I had no choice but to get used to it. 

Counselling was key to delivering me to a place of peace. And I guess I realised after a while that even though X had deemed me replaceable, my boys would only ever have one Mother – and that great privilege is all mine. 

Once I had gotten through the grief of our relationship breakdown and my world started opening up again, I began to treat my child-free weekends like a magical gift. I even started to feel a little sorry for Y – she had no children of her own but had to work hard all week then spend most of her weekends helping to care for mine. I definitely don’t think she got the best deal.

Now I can honestly say that I don’t give it another thought when Friday comes around. In fact, sometimes I’m so completely exhausted from working and managing the whole school week single-handedly that I can’t wait for the weekends to arrive. I know my boys are in good hands and I want them to both have a healthy and happy relationship with their Dad, and I truly appreciate his ongoing devotion to them. 

While I don’t like the fact that Y continues to ignore my requests to meet up and move forth (after all, it’s been over eight years and I'm happily in love again), it doesn't pain me to know she's a part of my boys' lives – and I have to give her some credit for hanging in there. On the whole, despite the challenges I think X and I have done a pretty fantastic job of ensuring that our boys feel secure and well-loved and normal.

Our eldest son (who is now 15) says he loves having two homes in two completely different locations (X lives in the city and I live in the country) – he's well-adjusted and confident and at ease with the fact that his parents are divorced. Our youngest son (almost 10) is completely enamoured of his Dad at the moment, so is always thrilled at the thought of seeing him and goes off without a care in the world. 

As for me, I’m happy knowing my boys are content. Really, what more can a parent ask for!

How are you today?

Here in Australia it's the annual R U OK Day... a fabulous initiative that reminds us to reach out to anyone we know who is struggling in any way at all – whether it's a result of depression, anxiety, illness, alcoholism, addiction, grief, solo parenting or a recently broken heart. Let your loved ones know how much you care. And if you're the one struggling, please don't shy away from asking for help.

 Let's all help brighten someone's day.

Dear X, this one's for you...

It’s Father’s Day, so naturally my thoughts turn to my own dear Dad and to you – the much-loved father of our two sweet boys.

Since the day you walked out the door I have been privy to countless stories about hideous ex-husbands who don’t take the concept of shared parenting seriously. And when I look around at the endless sea of amazing single mums I know who are doing it really tough – and often completely solo – I feel extremely grateful that I chose you to have children with.

While we’ve had some pretty memorable ex moments over the years and don’t always see eye to eye, I completely trust you when it comes to parenting our boys, and I appreciate the fact that you have never ever shied away from fathering them. So far you've done a pretty great job of it.

They both adore you and – because we are eternally linked by them – there will always be a piece of my heart reserved just for you.

Our lovely boys, way back when...

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

Lx

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.

Five things

When X and I were in the initial stages of separating and all communication had broken down, my counsellor made a suggestion:

  

Whenever we had an argument or couldn’t find anything kind or respectful to say, WRITE FIVE THINGS about each other that we genuinely love and appreciate.

  

It’s simple and effective, and can sometimes help to turn the tide.