Things are finally turning around for us, and it feels amazing. While I try to always be upbeat and optimistic there have been some parts of my life that weren’t all roses and candy. First off, I have a son. He is a wonderful kid – well rounded and healthy – smart, funny, happy, imaginative (all qualities he gets from me) as well as moody, smart-mouthed, temperamental, impatient (again, from me). Anyway, he’s mine and I wouldn’t change a single thing about him. I love him with every ounce of my being.

Having a child changes a person in a way that can’t easily be put into words. I know everyone says that. But I was a very self-centered person before he came along. Then all of a sudden I was second. My needs were put aside for the sake of his. My goals and ambitions became secondary to this tiny persons needs. Throw in a “guilt-marriage”, some drug use/abuse, two completely polar opposite families and value systems, and two step-kids and well, let’s just say you have one royal disaster on your hands. While the relationship he was born of deteriorated in the worst way, my love for my son was untouched. As a matter of fact it was strengthened by my commitment to protect, nurture and successfully raise him on my own. That’s a very hard thing to do, by the way. Every decision makes a million more things either possible, or impossible. And the extraordinarily bad situation surrounding me and the father’s split made things even more frightening and complicated. Luckily I had a great group of friends and a strong support network in my family, so that while things were tough, they were manageable.

During the first year of separation from his father, I found myself in an equally unhealthy rebound relationship. I thought surely some drinking issues would be easier to handle than a drug problem. Turned out it was a whole other kind of misery. Husband #2 was very financially stable, book smart, independent, and confident. At first. Things have a way of going downhill in a hurry, apparently. The alcohol made him super insecure and confrontational. Accusations and control became the primary players in our daily routine. One step forward was always accompanied by three steps backwards. It was a totally different set of circumstances, but equally dysfunctional.

And then there’s my son. Watching from his front row seat. Seeing and hearing all the drama. Too young to understand the complications of life but old enough to know things weren’t right. There wasn’t much ‘happy’ that happened when the three of us were together. Those happy times were reserved for when it was just me and my son. On the days we would spend away after HE had stayed out all night or we’d had a big blowout about something. Me and my little guy would escape by ourselves. Sometimes it was just for an afternoon, sometimes it was an impromptu stay in a nice hotel, or a surprise trip out of town to spend a weekend with family or friends. We would recharge, rest, and then as always – the trip would have to come to an end and we would head home. The reception was always one of apologies and promises to change, and it’s hard situation to be in. You want peace, stability, normalcy. And it’s as simple as a single choice. But that was always the problem – it wasn’t our choice to make. It was his.

Then one day my son asked me, point-blank, “Why are we still here with him?” So we left. For good. And we didn’t go back this time. I could go on for days about how God literally opened doors for us to make our escape, from the house we rented to the daycare situation and all the little crazy details in between. But that’s for another set of posts. Basically, the doors were swung wide open for us to be on our own, and not just ‘okay’. We were great. We were happy, and had everything we needed physically, financially even. I wasn’t wealthy but we had plenty. Both of our needs were met and with a little (okay, a lot) of help from my parents my son was able to have most of his wants met too. Things were wonderful. But something was missing. It wasn’t obvious to those around us in a way that stood out to onlookers or even those who knew us in a more personal way. But in the quiet moments of our life, during bedtime prayers and the little whispered conversations while I kneeled at my sons bedside for our more serious talks – the ones filled with hopes and wishes and things that we didn’t say to anyone else, it was painfully obvious.

My little boy wanted a dad. He wanted a dad in a way that most kids never experience. He didn’t want the dad that he knew was his biological father, or the man he knew as his step-dad either. This was a deeper want. He wanted someone good, and kind, and honest. Someone who wasn’t like his other dads. Oh, it wasn’t that I wasn’t enough or that things weren’t good the way they were, he’d explain. But he just didn’t understand why things were the way they were. Why wasn’t his dad good? Why couldn’t, or worse – why wouldn’t his step-dad be what he needed him to be? Why did his friends not have those kind of dads? Most of the time the only thing I could think of was that it was because of me. It was my bad choices that put him in those situations. My lack of forethought. My poor judgement of character. My sins that had lead us to this place. And there was no amount of penance I could pay to change any of it. He would cry. We would pray for God to send us someone to fill that broken place in our life. Then I would tuck him in, kiss his face, and head off to bed to cry and pray some more.

Super Bowl Sunday about a year after my second divorce, me and my son were watching the football game at my parents house. I had only recently joined facebook at the prompting of my best friend and after years of futile resistance, and I had a message. It wasn’t a message from one of my friends though. It was a message from a guy that I knew from back in school. And not just any guy, either. This guy had been my first and biggest, real crush. I say real crush because I had other crushes back then. Cute guys, boyfriends even. But nothing serious. But this guy… He was my first REAL crush. Hardcore, couldn’t stop staring, not even blushing anymore, from the pit of my stomach, in love – crush. My 13 year old selfs dream guy. Out of the clear blue sky.

He asked how I had been doing. We chatted for awhile. And eventually we set up a date. It was super weird. First, that he would blow off the Super Bowl game to chat online with me. Second, that I hadn’t seen or heard from him in about fifteen years. Third, that it was my 13 year old selfs dream guy! What are the odds, right?? To be continued……..