Saturday, November 12, 2005

Just Married


I sometimes get this wistful feeling when I find myself in certain situations with Kiddo’s Dad. It’s not remorse or nostalgia. It’s just….a sense of wistfulness.

I usually get this feeling when we have to make arrangements about our “time sharing”. The conversation usually turns to side stories about Kiddo and we both marvel at her funny little quips.

At first, the feeling caught me off guard. Sharing a very personal moment about my daughter with him would leave me feeling vulnerable. Then I would remind myself that she’s his daughter, too. Somewhere in the past, a promise was made to a Higher Power and to each other, and that covenant was benevolently blessed with Kiddo. The sincerity and depth of our laughter over her little achievements would…move me. When I share one of Kiddo’s Amazing Stories with my dear Sista, my mom or my friends, it’s somehow not the same. The only one who can mirror my pride and joy and know exactly the way that I am feeling is her father – the one person that I am also so far removed from.

This feeling of wistfulness was even more pronounced during Kiddo’s 4th birthday which we celebrated with a party at her school. She had on her best outfit and looked so grown up. She smiled from ear to ear while her classmates sang happy birthday to her and she waited to blow her candles. I’m sure it was a kick for her to instruct her other classmates not to blow her candles as she was the only one allowed to do that. As she became slightly moody and withdrawn during the celebration, I wondered if she could sense the air of polite, though restrained distance between me and her Father.

Unlike her past birthday parties that were major production numbers, the flurry of activity made for a convenient civil wall. Entertaining the numerous guests was enough to diffuse any tension and prevent the surfacing of raw emotions during an otherwise intense proud parent moment. This time, it was limited to immediate family and a room full of lively toddlers. And in the midst of it all were two people whose previous union gave cause for this birthday celebration.

It’s ironic that I no longer share anything with this person except my daughter -- the one person who means the world to me. But not even this bond or this commonality is enough to close the distance between us. It brings us together on special occasions which we are both a part of, but can never really share. It gives us profound pride and joy that we can only show, but can not express with the usual gestures like a hug or a meaningful look.

In my mind, I tell myself that we are now friends, but I know that with our history and the life that we once built around one another, we can never be just friends in the same way that we can’t be anything more.

I simplify things and downplay their importance in an effort to lessen the force of its impact, the gravity of its meaning -- thinking that only by doing so could I move on.

What was once a joining of two people filled with dreams of starting a life together becomes just a wedding. A sacred vow is reduced to just a contract whose separation clause had to be evoked. A joyous celebration witnessed by God, family and friends, is relegated to an event documented with pretty pictures.

I used to question why were blessed with Kiddo if we weren’t meant to last. I used to agonize over the “what ifs” and “if onlys”.

I don’t anymore.

While not all stories that start off as fairytales have a happy ending, they do have good times in between. And undeniably, there are happy memories to be grateful for. Kiddo’s presence in our lives is a constant reminder of that. If it weren’t for her, we would have been just married.