Round Two

And now it was Hil's turn.

Of course, Hil was only seven when I told Lars I would not be hanging around 'til Death do us part. (Unless of course, I decided to go the ground glass in the turkey tetrazzini route and finish him off before a single paper was filed in Domestic Court.)

And Lars and I did not exactly play the separation game any better than my parents had. But to be truthful, they'd had less to argue about.

1 - There was no custody battle. There was nary a custody discussion. Dad said he would die without us. Mom said she had no intention of taking us with her. She was leaving us all, make no mistake. Next issue, please.

2 - There was no dispute about the house. Dad insisted on staying in the house. Mom, for once, made no argument. She would have taken up residence in an appliance carton on Vine Street if necessary in order to get out.

3 - There was no alimony or child support. Any attempt by either party to collect anything from the other would have been offset by a competing claim. Why pay a lawyer to do the math?

And by contrast, Lars had made me the villain. did everything he could to alienate the kids from me, took every penny he could legally squeeze from me (and a few he did nefariously - like draining our bank account on the day I was paid), took every possession from the house right down to the last roll of toilet paper and the last box of cereal when he left, and tried to take the kids away from me entirely. Such a poor loser. But a loser nonetheless. The ground glass idea grew exponentially more appealing.

But there is one thing I am certain I did right, in spite of the cards being stacked against me. I will go to my grave satisfied that I did it right - would implore separating couples to concentrate on doing it right. I am sure I connected with my children about the changes they were facing in their young lives and assured them that no matter what changed, my love for them, my presence in their lives and their presence in my heart, my devotion my connectedness, my very Mom-ism would never, ever diminish. They were the center of my heart; I would always be a safe place. The world would change around us, but "we" would always be "us."

Looking back, however grim the picture, I have generally blamed Lars for a lot. And blamed the fact that he never came to terms with the fact that his mother did not loved any of her children for a lot of what made him the dark brooding father and spouse he eventually became.

And looking back at how it shaped him has made me realize two things:

1 - I never, ever doubted my Dad's love for me. Not for one second. It never crossed my mind. There were no signs to the contrary.

2 - I did however doubt that my Mother ever really loved us in any genuine way. And when she finally left our house, I had the distance and quietness of mind to make observations and decide that she didn't. And the distance and fortitude to begin to care less. The moments when she seemed to take interest or be proud or give a damn about anything were fleeting, and the episodes of rage and inaccessibility and short temperedness and impatience and indifference were bountiful. They could be hurtful, but hurt less and less as time went on and maturity found its footing.

The only thing that irks me now is that she thinks she fooled everyone.