My former husband has always marched to the beat of his own drum. Whether it was pursuing his MBA, tackling home projects, or making personal changes, he did everything at his own erratic pace, showing bursts of motivation only when inspired by some external influence. For the most part, he was a laid-back individual.
I’ll never forget a weekend he took some of the kids to his college buddy’s cabin. It was a delightful break for me, leaving me at home with just our youngest, who was still breastfeeding. I often wondered if he would have tried to take that child too, had I not been nursing.
To be clear, he wasn’t a terrible person. For a significant time, he was quite decent.
When he came back from that weekend, he was overflowing with newfound zeal for marriage and fatherhood, which was a stark contrast to his usual lethargy. I remember feeling uneasy—was he hypnotized? Did his friend sell him on some miraculous essential oils? This excitement for family life was unfamiliar territory, and looking back, maybe a little foreboding.
One evening, while I was in our dimly-lit basement getting ready to clean the cat’s litter box, he approached and took the scooper from my hands, saying, “Man, I learned so much from Steve this weekend.” Curious, I asked what he meant. He explained how Steve was heavily involved with his family and how that made him realize how much I contributed. My eyes watered—not from the cat litter, but from feeling recognized. It’s a rare treat when someone else cleaning up after pets feels like a compliment.
He promised to turn over a new leaf, pledging to be a more engaged father and attentive partner. For a considerable time, this renewed commitment flourished before eventually fading away, like dried leaves crumbling to dust.
Fast forward several years—my children have had little meaningful contact with their father since he left. Initially, he insisted they stay with me full-time, and I assumed it was due to the overwhelming responsibility of raising four kids. However, as the dust settled, it became clear that he was more concerned about his new partner’s comfort than facing the reality of co-parenting.
In the beginning, he played the role of the diligent divorced dad, adhering to the visitation schedule. He took the kids on trips and attended holiday events, marking my calendar with “K” or “NK” to track when the kids would be with me. It became a new normal after our separation.
However, his participation dwindled. He attended only two parent-teacher conferences post-divorce. While he showed up for concerts and games, often lurking in the shadows, his effort was noted by the kids. They can sense when someone cares and when they don’t.
Some children voice their feelings, asking questions like, “Where is Dad? Why didn’t he come to the game?” Others might remain silent, but their internal struggles are evident. It manifests in tantrums, tears, or feelings of inadequacy. They may withdraw or become overly charismatic, swinging between “Don’t look at me!” and “Why aren’t you watching me?”
The most painful part of my divorce has not been my bruised ego, financial strain, or losing my in-laws. It’s been watching my children cope with a father who gradually slipped away from their lives. The worry is constant. I fear my sons might grow up to think families are easily disposable, and I’m concerned my daughter might end up with deep-seated issues because of her father’s abandonment.
One of my quirky celebrity crushes, Andy Samberg, has a humorous song titled “Cool Guys Don’t Look At Explosions.” It always gives me a chuckle, especially as a reminder of how many fathers, including mine, light a fire and simply walk away. They create families and then disappear, leaving one parent to shoulder the chaos alone. I’ve dealt with everything: the mundane moments of everyday parenting, the teenage trials, and the significant milestones, often without any support.
It’s been challenging, but I’ve managed. The end of this journey isn’t near, but it’s in sight.
Now, as the kids transition into young adulthood, it might seem like the perfect time for him to re-enter their lives. Surprisingly, he is starting to reconnect with one of them, and I find myself feeling hopeful. I even caught myself saying aloud, “Better late than never.” I believe it’s important to be involved in someone’s life at any stage.
Is it fair? Not at all. I often lay exhausted in bed after pouring every ounce of energy into raising our kids alone, feeling like the Little Red Hen who bakes bread only to have someone else swoop in and take a slice. But ultimately, it’s better to have some involvement than none at all.
Conclusion
In conclusion, while the journey of co-parenting after a divorce can be fraught with challenges, the ongoing desire for connection—regardless of timing—holds significant value. It’s better late than never when it comes to being a part of a child’s life. For those navigating similar paths, resources like Make a Mom and Pregnancy can provide valuable guidance. Furthermore, for insights on family dynamics, you might explore this partnership that highlights the importance of inclusive parenting.