Growing up I had what was considered the norm at the time. A mom and a dad who loved eachother and loved their two kids. Divorce was a foreign concept to me. I have wonderful memories from my childhood. A stable home life, family vacations, reasonable expectations and lots of love. All the things I hoped to have when I grew up and had a family of my own. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could just photocopy my childhood and hand it to my kid? Unfortunately that’s just not how life works.
Here I am, divorced before the rings had lost their shine, holding on to a two year old and trying to put together a life both her and I could look back on with a smile. I love her with all my being and so does her daddy, but our relationship was just not meant to be.
I feel as though I not only lost that childhood dream for myself but for my daughter. I wanted her to have my childhood so badly and it broke my heart when I realized that it just wasn’t going to happen. Her life is split between parents and houses. We aren’t all together for her birthday or holidays and one of us is always missing out on something important like Christmas morning. I take some comfort in the fact that it is all she has known and she isn’t being thrown into this situation later on in her childhood.
Now she’s nearly seven and the other man in her life has been around for four years. He has been her father figure and role model for as long as she can remember. She occasionally calls him dad but mostly calls him D. He is used to raising boys and my daughter is the farthest thing from a tomboy. I want him to love her. I want them to bond. I want her to have the relationship with him that I have with my dad. We have lived under the same roof for nearly two years and I am seeing a relationship slowly building between them. I’ve come home from work to see them curled up watching tv together and my heart melts. Sometimes it’s something as small as him tickling her and joking around. But today I saw a piece of my childhood happen with them. He was brushing her hair. This simple act, this chore that needed to get done, this memory I have of my dad gently brushing my hair, happened today. He has no idea what it means to me to see this happen. He would probably think I’m being some sentimental girl reading too much into it. But there it was…a father daughter moment.
My heart is full today.