The hardest goodbye of all

Two things prompted me to create this post tonight: a post on a blog that i follow HERE and a phone call I had with the Kid a short time ago.  He and  I spoke briefly tonight – he had a friend staying the night at his house.  He informed me about a fishing trip Jabba is taking him on later this week.  He told me “I wish you could go” which really struck me, I think because he is still only 6 years old but he is maturing and I see him developing a sense of empathy.  This conversation, the aforementioned link and the fact that I’ve never written about this topic – to the best of my knowledge – are the brainchildren of tonight’s post.

Forgive me if I’ve posted about this before.  I haven’t gone back yet to review my earlier posts.

Far and away, the absolute hardest part of my divorce was saying goodbye to my son; more specifically, my decision to leave him and the home in which he lives under the care of Jabba.  It was not an easy decision for me to make; and to be fair, it’s not an easy decision for any father worth his weight to make. I can’t speak for all fathers who have to – or chose to – move out of their homes, leaving their kids in the care of their moms.  But in my situation, I had to make the decision to leave for the proverbial greater good.  

Let’s face it:  my marriage dynamic was a fucked up situation  I simply wasn’t happy in it and I didn’t want my son to grow up thinking that the way that Jabba and I were living was normal.  I wanted – and want – The Kid to see me as a proud, happy, hard-working, productive human being.  Ideally, I would have like to have done all of these things while living under the same roof as him, but that was simply no longer realistic. Unless they are psychologically unfit or abusing the kids,the moms generally get custody of the kids, period.

The worst part of this whole mess is missing out on the everyday – day-to-day stuff.  The Kid is really interested in fishing; a passion I was and am not around to see develop in him.  We speak on the phone an average of 6 times per week, but it simply isn’t the same as having a daily presence in each other’s lives. I don’t get to see him come in from school and tell me about his day.  I don’t see his school friends.  I absolutely despise the fact that I miss out in him reading books, discovering new foods, and seeing him accomplish something that he wasn’t able to do the day or even the hour before.  When I get to see him, it seems like he’s growing by leaps and bounds.  There are times when I hardly recognize him from one photograph to the next.  I hear stories about countless dads who simply don’t want to be involved in their kid’s lives and it makes me sick.  I would give anything to have The Kid living here with me full-time.  I know that it’s all relative though.  There are some dads who live within earshot of their kids and never get to see them.  There are other like me who live  5 states away and get along with their kid fabulously but still can’t have the relationship they want.

IN OTHER NEWS:  I tried to add a couple classes to my school schedule tonight.  I have to talk to my academic adviser tomorrow to get that going.

UPDATE 1.2.14 1:13 PM:  I talked with my mom just a few hours ago, just to shore up plans for Phred’s upcoming birthday.  I informed her how The Kid had told me when we talked just after midnight in New Year’s Eve/Day that he had tried to call my parents.  Mom informed me that he made no such attempt to call; not on his phone and not on Jabba’s phone.  I’m not mad at him.  There’s no doubt in my mind that Jabba told him to tell me that, just to fuck with my head.

Also, I managed to get signed up for Winter classes finally.  I continue to move forward.

THE NEW YEAR’S REVOLUTION CONTINUES

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