“What’s my father’s first name?” The blue eyes staring at me were angry, full of a sudden realization that made my heart plunge into my stomach, made my blood run cold and sad.
“Seriously, Boo?” I asked him with a gentle smile. He nodded, once, his angelic, lovely face void of its usual, playful animation, eyes cold and grave and looking to me for truth. I told him his father’s name. My son took a deep breath, and went into a diatribe of anger, about how his father never calls him (we haven’t heard from him since he moved countries, just a brief response to my inquiry with a new address), didn’t send him a birthday present, doesn’t care about him.
I was at a loss. It’s my son’s heart I’m defending, not his father’s actions, I reminded myself. “I’m sure your father cares about you,” I said, holding both his hands in both of mine, willing his natural faith in the goodness of humankind to return to his eyes. “He just moved, maybe he’s still trying to get settled. I’m sure he’ll call you soon.”
What can I do? There is a photo of him with his father in his room. I bought Cinnamon Life cereal because I remembered it was one of his father’s favorite cereals. We play a game of “Tell me”, and his insatiable appetite for stories about when he was a little guy devours everything I can remember about him and demands more, always more. I wish his father would send us copies of all the videos I took of the Kid when he was a baby. But I’ve given up asking for anything from him. He’s never going to be there for his son.
That leaves me. Always. The rock he can anchor his heart to… the warm blanket… the comfortable couch… the punching bag…
“You called me every day when you went away. Why doesn’t he?”
I don’t know, love. Your father must be very busy.
I went to the U.K. but I called home every day, interrupting conversations, meetings, dinner to hear my son’s voice on the phone. My priorities are different. But they always have been.
And then, as suddenly as it began, this storm is over. He leans his wiry little body against my soft mama one and sighs, kissing me suddenly on the forearm and prattling on about how long a velociraptor’s claws were. I feel as though I’ve dodged a bullet. I resist the urget to call every man friend I know and beg them to come spend some time with my son. I sit still and listen to his child’s voice chirp and pop and skitter over a thousand different subjects in the space of a breath, and resist the need to Fix! Heal! Do!
At night, I pause for the fifth time beside his bed and whisper, “You are loved.” He shifts and murmurs in his sleep, my light, my life, my joy. I cannot protect him from all pains and disappointments. I can only, and always, be the constant in his life, his home base, his home.
[...] thing, you’re not alone. Recently, my son — the King of Everything — was pretty angry at his father, who lives in another country. While I’m glad he feels comfortable enough with me to express [...]
Very informative. Thank you for the advice. I enjoy reading your blog.
Chuck
http://www.squidoo.com/Divorce_Effects_On_Children
Issa, hang in there, lady.
Rachel, Sanity Fairy — Sigh. You know? And yes, he reads this and yes, he called this morning. At least he did that.
Tam, wow. Thank you for all your kind words. I know it’s going to be weird for you and Nolan at times, but just answer his questions honestly. Don’t elaborate.
Anna, I tell my son every time this happens… your father loves you. And when my son comes back with, “Well, then, why doesn’t he call?” I don’t have an answer for that.
Yep, tears here too. This hits home, because my son will feel this, but probably not express it (autism), so I remind him from time to time about all the people that love him, and I include his dad on that list.
Be careful of fronting for his dad, though. You don’t want to lose his trust because of this. I would instead say something like, “People show their love in different ways, and some people have a harder time showing it”. That way, you are not putting words in his dad’s mouth, but you aren’t necessarily nailing him to the wall, either. And neither will your son won’t interpret it as his fault.
hey there – i’m also dreading this question with nolan. he hasn’t asked about his bio-dad in a long long time. there’s been lots of distractions and life-changes, so it’s not come up. when we’re calm and still again, i’m sure he’ll ask me about who he is, what his name is, where he lives. through the magic of myspace i know where he lives and what he looks like. do i show it to him? do i tell him his bio-dad’s name? i want to, but i don’t want to.
you’re an awesome mama. i’m glad you’ve set it up so that your little guy can express his anger and sadness in front of you! and that’s because your he gets everything he needs from you. you work VERY hard and your son thrives beyond the basics because of that.
i’m sorry to hear about his father’s lack of initiative in communicating with him. aside from the lack of financial support, he could at least pick up the phone, send emails to his son, SOMETHING. it’s not that hard to do! in comparison – the energy it takes to just BE IN TOUCH is a tiny speck in the shadow of your gigantic love and devotion to your son. his father needs a wake-up call but first he needs to call his kid.
All we can do is what we’re able to do. The questions are painful beyond description, as I can tell you from personal heart wrenching experience. Please be comforted he’s able to put into words how he feels and the comparisons that he’s making between you and his father.
Just wondering. Does his father read your blog?
Reading this gave me the chills. Serious.
You are an amazing mother. And, yes, you are his constant in his life, his home base, his home — and so much more.
This brought tears to my eyes, C. I know, all too soon, it will be my son asking these kinds of questions, and my heart breaks just at the thought of it. We are raising better men, you and I. Men who, because of the pain of their father’s absence and the hugeness of their mother’s love, will be wonderful husbands and fathers one day. Of this I am sure. xoxo