Tag: divorce

what?? you’re leaving me? us? huh? REALLY?
omg. but we moved here to start our new life!
omg. what now. what now……. Really??

Ev’ry Little Ting

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Mommy Mind5 Comments

Well, he’s here. The first thing I thought when I saw my son was that his hair was long and his pants were short. (His nails were long too, kinda looked like the poor kid had been living under a bridge for a bit.) But overall, his spirits were bright and our reunion sweet, and as usual, when it was Elihu, Fareed and me, we had a lovely little get together in the midst of our three very busy lives. This time his father seemed a bit less stressed than he has in the past. Fareed had left his phone behind, as it’s being repaired, so for the first time I can ever recall, he was traveling untethered to the complex life that awaited him back home. No doubt upon his return he will be knee-deep in situations, both personal and professional, all which need his urgent attention.

But for our late afternoon lunch together, he seemed remarkably present. We talked of Von’s memorial service, and of plans for this important first week of school. The weather was perfect and there were enough fish and chips left over to bring home for supper. In spite of a two hour delay to the train’s arrival, it had still turned out to be a very enjoyable afternoon.

Although my plan had been to get us back into our ‘early to bed, early to rise’ routine, Elihu had rediscovered trains on this past trip to Chicago, and with money his paternal grandmother had given him he was able to buy a new car and a new engine (the passenger car lights up on the inside to reveal tiny tables and seats!) and so he was eager to locate his ho scale track, set it up and get the new cars going. You can imagine how I felt when I heard those plans so late in the day (nay, so late in the evening by now as we’d started late). I didn’t want to simply turn into the bad cop parent who automatically puts the kibosh on things ‘just because’, so in the end, since Fareed and Elihu were actually making a working track and things looked good (we can thank my major putting-it-all-away campaign of the past five weeks for them even finding the silly trains) – I left them to it and myself turned in to bed. Last night it was so good to have all three of us together as we seldom are – that I just let it be.

Our visit was over in an instant this time, as Fareed had a flight to Chicago the next morning. There wouldn’t be a family outing to get school supplies, instead just a trip to the airport. Elihu woke up with a sore throat and a bit of a temperature, but we gave him some throat spray and he toughed it out, sleeping in the back seat on the ride to the airport. The goodbye was harder than ever before – Elihu had been with his dad for over a month, after all. We three all group hugged before Elihu and I pulled away and got into the car. As we drove off Elihu remarked that this was the hardest time he had ever, ever had saying goodbye to his father. He himself cited the long visit. And he knew he’d feel better soon, but he had some lasting sadness for sure.

By the time we were back in town, we were back in our own groove. We stopped for some groceries, ending our errand by visiting Elihu’s favorite floral department. We saw shopping cart filled with fine-looking arrangements which were marked for the trash. When we asked if we could purchase them ourselves at a discount we were told absolutely not, that ‘corporate’ wouldn’t allow it. I can tell you, I know waste, I turn my back on it regularly, and Elihu also knows the crap embedded in our systems – but to see this, it just represented such wrong that we were both rather sickened by it. All that effort to get the flowers here – let alone that they themselves are such works of nature – then they are left to die, never to know the purpose for which they have lived at all… Elihu was near tears. We had to keep moving. But as we walked, we began to make a plan: we’d write the CEOs – we’d make them understand, we’d be the ones to finally change the situation and bring justice! Carts of doomed flowers marked to half their original prices would find themselves brightening the homes of people, many of whom could never justify such a purchase ever before! Extra sales! Extra joy! A win-win…. We left the store our chests full of hope for our new future quest…

But shortly we were back with our chickens and frogs, and the campaign to save the fading flowers is itself fading. It’s a perfect day – sunny with a breeze, clouds are passing overhead. I find my zero gravity reclining chair, and uncover my whole self to the sun. It’s good to live off the road. Elihu is busying himself with catching frogs. That’s good, cuz I’m tired on account of our having to rise earlier than I’m used to… So I’m in and out of little cat naps in the sun. Every so often he’ll bring a chicken or a frog over to show me. We’ll admire it together, then he’ll dash off again. Round about 1 the mother’s clock in me goes off and I suggest lunch.

When it’s ready, I lean outside and ring the bell which I’ve mounted on the side of the house for just this purpose. In the thirties and forties it was the dinner bell for the lakeside house where my father spent his childhood summers. It makes me happy to know that that rich, distinct sound is the very same one that called my father from the beach so many years ago when he himself was a young boy as his grandson is now. We have a nice lunch, full of humor and silliness. Then we make plans to go to town so that Elihu might play a little djembe again. He wants to, and there’s still time.

Town is busy, yes, but it’s clear that it’s the last day of racing season. The streets aren’t packed as they’ve been. While I hear Elihu playing some very new ideas – and playing the best he has played in a long time – the tips aren’t coming in, and he’s feeling discouraged. After a while he’s recognized by an old school pal from pre-Waldorf days, so we leave our post and walk to a record store with him and his mother.

Soon we run into our friends from down our own road, we befriend a young man with a lovely Bernese mountain dog, and learn the guy working at the record store plays drums. It’s all a nice, serendipitous hang, and it seems a charming hour of our life has passed, until we part and head for the car.

As we near the car Elihu begins to break down. I wonder if it might not be part of the transition again. We get into the car, and he begins to talk about what’s on his heart. Elihu weeps his discontent to me. He is sad that there is no sense of connection with people. He feels people make pleasantries rather than real interaction. He says he wonders why he’s even on this stupid planet because he just doesn’t feel he belongs here. I know this is in part because of the transition. It is. And he’s old enough that I can posit this to him without creating a worse scene. I ask him. He nods, he agrees. But he adds that it’s much more than just having difficulty switching gears.

He tells me that his ‘soul’ is not happy. That this town makes his ‘soul hurt’. I explain that it might be because this town is all about making money, and then spending it. Everyone is chasing the thing that will make them feel good. The next outfit, the next restaurant meal, always the next… This is not a culture of connection. It is a culture of distraction. I feel it too. And that’s precisely why we need to make compelling music and beautiful drawings and share these things with others. We need to help create the connection we feel is missing.

We just sit for a while and think. With the windows open we can hear 86-year-old Jamaican Cecil pickin out melodies on his banjo across the street on his bench. “Don’t worry” he sings, “bout a ting, ev’ry little ting’s gonna be alright”. It helps. I tell Elihu to cry if he needs to, not to stop. So he does. He weeps.  (It would only be for me that I should ask him to stop, for it is heartbreaking to hear someone else’s discontent so acutely.) He’s ok for the moment, but we need to get home.

When we do get back, I throw yesterday’s fish into the oven for our supper, and join Elihu on the couch. We nestle ourselves into the cushions and finally, my arms are around my son. We just sit. We listen to the the wind change, and to a summer rain begin, a blue jay scolding. A lovely evening breeze blows into the house and past us. He feels better, and so do I. After a while I suggest we play a game, so we find Mancala and In A Pickle and do our best to play each game through to its successful conclusion. But we’re not great rule-followers or rule-understanders, so we make up some of our own, and we do our best to just have fun. Which, thankfully, we do. We enjoy a nice dinner and are just about to retire to a much-needed bath when Maximus begins to honk outside. We have guests.

Turns out it’s our neighbor Zac, come to give us two big bags of wood chips from his mill. Perfect, we could definitely use em in our coop. We throw on our shoes, Elihu his dark glasses and head out to say hi and thanks. We get to talking and hanging out, and long story short, Elihu’s glasses fall to the driveway and as Zac drives off they get crunched beneath his tires. Which would have been fine if Elihu hadn’t just left his other pair in Chicago. Geez. And we have to go out tomorrow! We need school stuff! And Elihu has – school. He can’t leave the house without his glasses. Literally. So this  is a major monkey wrench in the works. (Or a spanner, depending.) It looks bleak, but I try to keep it light. Some options, none great. But let’s not worry about it now. Dad will overnight the others soon, and we’ll do what we can here. Right?

Right. We read the locally-inspired tale of Rip Van Winkle and soon Elihu is asking me to turn the closet light on and stay with him. “Daddy always leaves right away” he says through sleepy eyes. How can I deny him? The dishes need doing before the morning, but I can’t leave. I rest my hand on his arm and his eyes flash open, but on seeing me still there, he sinks back into sleep. I wait a bit more, watching him sink, hearing his breath change… I get up from the bed and look at him lying there. I’d expected to be struck by how big he was getting, but instead, he still looked tiny to me tonite. A tiny little boy in a big bed. So much going on in that tiny little person too. So much. It’s so good to have him safe at home again.

I know there’s still a lot going on, much to do and problems to be solved. But I also know that in the end, ev’ry little ting’s gonna be alright.

Nostalgia

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Mommy Mind3 Comments

My ex always used to say that I spent much of my energy in life looking back, while he spent much of his looking forward. I wouldn’t argue with that. I am, fundamentally, a sentimental person. And with the recent death of dear Von Freeman, something deep within my melancholic nature has been stirred. I’m made keenly aware of time’s passing. Elihu is no longer a very young boy, my father is now a very old man, and my hair is run through with silver. I’ve been here in New York now four years to this month. Time enough to have graduated from high school or from college. I’ve completed a four year term of life, and now, before I embark on the post-graduate study of life to come, I need to assess and file away what I’ve learned and accumulated thus far.

Over the past year I’ve been working at sorting through all of my household stuff, so that I might know the contents of my house – of my life – down to every last one of my mementos, recordings, art, writing and possessions (and the same of my son’s). Now I have reached the final – and most challenging – phase of the project: my office. Going through this archive of my life is an emotionally charged job. In some way it seems I’m bearing witness to all I’ve done and created thus far that I might now lay it to rest and begin the next chapter of my life’s work with renewed enthusiasm. When this room is finished, when the evidence has been considered and put away, it will create a good, clean emotional place from which to go forward into the adventure. But with all the retrospection going on today and all the poignant discoveries, for the moment I’m feeling a little sad, a little hesitant to say goodbye. A little stuck.

In this room is the fountainhead of all the things I’ve ever created and saved: work from grade school, papers from college, art, recordings, photos, writing, old programs from early in my dad’s career, ticket stubs, backstage passes, bits and pieces from every corner of my forty-nine years on the planet. What to do with it all? My goal, as I sit right now in the midst of a room full of paper, is to create systems. Binders will house the finest pieces of art, file boxes for the rest. Much has already been burned, much more is yet to be. Items – things – the stuff I really have no room for, it will be thinned to a manageable amount – put into a clear plastic box (for if it can’t be seen, it can easily be forgotten) and then onto a shelf. When will they lose their meaning? Will I end up tossing them or will that fall to Elihu after I’m dead? I am stopped by the quandary of stuff. What have my peers, my friends, my readers done with the sentimental things from their lives? I wish I knew. I’ve culled the best I can, I must simply store the rest that I can’t say goodbye to. I’m not good at taking my own advice. These things are not the person, not their love, not the memory, I know, I know… Yet I can’t throw out the postcards from my grandmother, nor the clay figure I made in second grade… I’m in a sentimental fog, and I’m trying to clear my head.

My load has lightened, it has, yet there’s still so much crap. Driving down the road today, I saw an open garage whose wall was covered in boxes. Likely the boxes that never got unpacked after that last move. I personally know plenty of folks with that story. So what then? And what, exactly, is actually in those boxes? Me, I’m finding mostly art in my boxes, some letters and lots of musical programs. I find a box of tax docs from our old Cafe and realize I can toss em now. That helps. Physically it gives me some room. Psychologically it frees me up. Ok. Progress is slow, but it’s there. One box down is one box down.

Then I come upon some photos of my last recording session. It was with Von. Wow. I look so much younger. And thinner. I remember – I was newly pregnant then. What a good time that was. It reminds me, and I’m happy to find these. I’d forgotten all about that session, I’m so grateful to have these pictures. I remember Von had said he thought he sounded like Ben Webster on the ballad… yeah, I remember that. I still have that recording. It gets me thinking. Maybe I should release it. Don’t know, but it’s something to think about. It’s a possibility.

Everything is a possibility right now. In a way it feels like I’m about to emerge – in earnest – from my old life. While reading my old letters to Fareed still brings tears, and while it’s still not easy to understand that Elihu has two brothers and a sister I don’t even know, things are better these days than they were in the beginning. Things are settling into their own new pattern. No longer is my story new and fresh. The hurt is there, but truly, it has dulled with time. I’ve come to realize that I love living alone, that Elihu and I have great adventures together, and that yes, two people can constitute a family. I’ve examined my life, and now I’m examining my possessions; taking a full-life inventory. I’ve moved through a phase of aging, of growing, of learning these past four years. I’m ready to move into my future.

Ever onward, yet ever mindful of the past. Nostalgic yes, but eager to create new memories. I think I still have a little space for a few more boxes….

Call Waiting

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I don’t want to run the risk of embarrassing my son later in his life; relaying the matter on my mind tonight may require some careful use of words, so I will simply say this: he is still ‘challenged’ when it comes to ‘making it through the night’. We continue to earmark a portion of our modest monthly income on disposable paper-based products in order to both lessen my workload (otherwise it would be laundry every single day) and to help maintain his dignity. It’s not something he nor I wish for, but apparently, since my brother also had a similar challenge when he was Elihu’s age, it seems there’s a genetic component in the mix. I do not think my son will enter sixth grade (nor fifth, I hope) with this problem. So I don’t really sweat it. It’s a project we will have to work on together. I’ll do what I can, waking him in the night, helping him to remember the task at hand, helping him to make it routine. That’s my take on it. Elihu’s too. But his father has other ideas.

After a rather cryptic email today from his father, the subject line reading simply “visit with Dr. Mark” he tells me that it was “intense” and that we three should talk soon. ?? I’ve called several times with no answer. So I wait. Wait for the call that will unveil the mystery behind the ‘intense meeting’ with Dr. Mark. I did encourage him to take Elihu to his own family doc if he felt he needed to. I don’t know this Dr. Mark, but that’s not what I’m worried about right now.

I also received another message of concern from my near-ex just last week. Fareed was troubled by Elihu’s continuing ‘problem’ and suggested – in a frighteningly cool tone – that perhaps “we should consider circumcision”, as that would have Elihu paying more attention to “that part of his body”. I was aghast. When I told my mother, she panicked, wondering if Fareed might actually have Elihu undergo such surgery while he was there in Illinois. I certainly don’t think he would even attempt it – and I do not believe it would be allowed to happen without my consent. But still, that shocker of a message followed by today’s email and no still word from him, it all has me a little uneasy.

It’s amazing that a man such as my near-ex, who is in so many ways can appear to be a thoughtful, intelligent and sometimes even loving person, can be such an idiot, and so insensitive. The bladder muscles have nothing to do with the skin of a penis. Causing his child undue, unnecessary pain will not help in this situation. And anyway, we both chose to leave our son the way he was designed. We both knew that the trend to circumcise all baby boys in America without question was a modern phenomenon. Without religious or cultural mandates guiding us, we had no obligation to do so. In fact, as the mother of a son, I felt very strongly that it was my job to advocate for his rights not to be circumcised. I realize that Fareed was born into an era when all baby boys were cut as a matter of routine – but come on! To even suggest this so far into the game – at the age of nine! – and to imply that it will stop bed wetting – all of that is in my eyes simply outrageous. But then again, my almost-ex is the rather spoiled only child of wealthy parents, and he is a musician of mini-star stature in some subcultures. Lots of people know him and think he’s quite a guy; he’s accustomed to having things his way. And apparently, having his son circumcised is the ‘way’ he thinks is best.

I know Elihu’s getting ready for bed right about now. I know that he’s fine, and that he’s probably busy doing something. Reading to himself, or maybe to his baby brothers, maybe taking a bath…. He may even be in bed by now. I hope so. Oh but how I’d like to talk to him once before the day ends. Just to know he’s ok. Poor kid. I hope his dad hasn’t added to the shame and embarrassment he already feels about all this.

All I can do is send him my love. And send quieting, peaceful energy to his dad, so that this might all fade away as just another routine challenge of growing up. Because that’s what it is. Even if tonight doesn’t feel very routine for me.

I hope my beloved Elihu sleeps well tonight. I myself could go to bed much with a much lighter heart if only his dad would pick up the phone…

Young Man

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Mommy Mind3 Comments

Just got off the phone with my son. He’s spending five consecutive weeks at his father’s home in Illinois. It’s the longest we’ve been apart from each other during his nine years on the planet. He can do it, I know, but it’s still kinda hard for him (me too.) Kid’s been feeling a bit voiceless in all this shuffling back and forth from household to household. I listen, and I tell him that I hear him. That I understand what he’s saying, that I respect his feelings about it all. I ask if he’s told his father what he’s just told me. He tells me no, because if he did, he knows his dad would just ‘yell and smack him’. Now I know that’s probably not exactly what Fareed would do, but I do know that he’s been known to smack Elihu a time or two, and that he’s done so in some pretty public places. I know what Elihu means. And I understand the impression his dad has created of his own fatherly might. I tell Elihu to let his dad know that he just wants to express his feelings – that he’s not asking for anything but his dad to simply listen and hear him. He answers “I just know he’d say ‘suck it up'”. And I agree. He would. When I explain to Elihu that both he and his father need time together, Elihu easily agrees, it’s just that he wonders if there isn’t another solution.

Then my son, who has been upset over missing his summer vacations ‘at home’ for the past several years, offers his idea: if he agrees to spend every last holiday and break with his father, he hopes he might earn a whole summer vacation here. Well, only problem is – he already has nearly every holiday – and every break – there in Illinois. Hmm. There must be an equitable solution here. I think for a minute. This is really important to Elihu, and our presentation of our case to his father is critical here. “How about,” I start, “we invite Daddy here for as long as he can visit – and any time he’d like, during the summer?” It feels possible. His father can come out for a week each month if he wants. Elihu notes that his dad will likely have gigs that interfere. “So tell him to block out those weeks and not take any gigs then” I add.  “Have him plan his visit into his calendar just like it was a gig.” There’s quiet on the other end for a couple seconds. “Yes” he finally says. “Yeah, that might work…”

And so we worked out our goal, our strategy. I realize it might not fly with Fareed – especially if it stands to eclipse a paying gig, but who knows. There’s also Fareed’s ‘other’ family to consider. I know he likes to have them all together there in Illinois – that way it doesn’t take him away from his other two sons, plus it gives him time with Elihu. It’s kind of a convenience for him. I understand. But still, it’s an option worth presenting. I’ll leave it to Elihu to pose it to his father. I’ve told him that I’m behind him on this, but he needs to get his father to listen. That’s not something I can do with much success, as Fareed might think I’m trying to interfere with their relationship, to strip away his time with his son. I’m certainly not – in fact I’m always encouraging it – yet I’m not sure Fareed sees it that way. (This really makes me sad. You’d think there’d be a bit of inherent trust of some sort after a quarter century of shared history… but it ain’t necessarily so.)

Elihu feels a bit more at ease after we navigate through that issue, something which I guess has contributed to his headache tonight. (Seriously, what nine year old should have a stress headache? Sometimes a tiny voice in the background worries if it might not be something more serious… I cannot be alone in my maternal worryings, can I?) Elihu seems to be a little lighter now, a little happier. He goes on to telling me about his two younger half-siblings, and how they’re kinda rowdy and will soon be going to Montessori School. Elihu talks about how Montessori will bring out the best in them “in spite of themselves” and uses phrases like “such that” and “in so doing” as he speaks, and oh how eloquently he speaks, this nine year old boy of mine. It seems he has turned a corner. Not simply for the mature use of language or the complexity of his thinking. There’s something else. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but something about him is changed. He himself asked me tonight if he might not attribute his recent sentimentality about things to his growing older. He noticed that he’d grown so tall that his head now brushed a bird ornament he had hanging in his room, when in the past he’d walked well underneath it. Noticing that had made him wistful. I told him I wasn’t sure, but it made sense to me that his emotions should be registering this change too. I also told him that I’d been sensing in these past two months that something about him was changing. (I’d recently had a moment of real panic in which I fully understood – maybe finally believed might be a better choice of words – that my son was no longer a cute little boy, a child I could lift up and carry on my hip, but rather he was now a young, capable boy very close to becoming a young man.) The chubby wrists were gone long ago, yes,  but even after that he had remained a ‘cute little boy’ for a good long while. But now, he wasn’t that boy anymore. I too, was wistful.

After nearly an hour on the phone, we agreed it was time to say good-bye. He parted as he does with family he loves (grandparents, parents, Martha): by saying “love you so much”. He emphasizes the “so much” in such a way that it sinks deep down; anyone listening gets it. His love comes through, his intention is strong. And yet there’s also a hint of sorrow present in his parting declaration of love. A sorrow that comes naturally of a family divided, a family that can no longer live under one roof. Sad though he may be, he sure is loved, that kid. From both sides. And he knows that, which is, as we all can agree, the most important thing.

Before we hang up, he asks me to come to him tonight in his dreams, and I ask him to do the same. So tonight I’ll be on the lookout for that familiar, fine, young man. Only he’ll probably be just a bit taller than the Elihu I remember.

Near and Far

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This moment feels very surreal. Fareed and Elihu sit at the kitchen island, small computer before them, skyping with Elihu’s sister in England. Her mother and I are friends, we’ve many times compared notes on the sometimes outrageous behavior of our childrens’ father, and I know her to read the blog. I have no bad feelings towards her or her daughter, but nonetheless, it is a strange feeling to be in the next room of this tiny house listening to Fareed, Elihu and his sister talk. I don’t need to pretend I’m not hearing them, nor do I need to tiptoe around and pretend I’m not here. To tell the truth, I’m not sure this girl even has any real concept of me existing at all. I wonder sometimes, does she wonder? Does she ever wonder about her brother’s own mom? She is a few months older than Elihu, it can’t be too long before she begins to ponder this. But I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter I guess. For me, I cannot imagine being in her shoes – or those of Fareed’s other sons’. Hmm – are they in turn her little baby brothers?? Man, I guess so. But I’m not even sure she knows about them at all! Strange. I know that in the real world there are many such twisted familial relationships throughout many cultures – and that there have been all through history, it’s just that I myself never in a million years could have envisioned being personally involved in such a tangle.

Elihu’s baby brothers can’t have understood yet – in any meaningful way – that their brother has a different mother. I often wonder at the years yet ahead and how these relationships will evolve. Elihu loves his siblings very much, and he’s said many times to me that he hopes I can meet them one day. Just how will that work? I can, in fact, imagine seeing his sister and her mom. That would actually be enjoyable, I think. But how will it be to see Fareed’s ‘other’ woman and their two sons? I did send her an email last summer, thanking her for taking care of Elihu; an olive branch of sorts. But she didn’t respond. I simply can’t know how she thinks of me. The spin Fareed might be putting on our story. Does he paint me to be a shrew? A selfish bitch? I don’t know. And I can’t do much about it. But I will, no doubt, one day come face-to-face with the lot of them, and I want to weather it with as much grace as possible. Even today I think I would cry if I should see them in person. I don’t even know what the boys look like – although Fareed does tell me stories about them. I try to smile, try to listen without taking it personally. And I think I’m doing better at that. I know these kids have nothing to do with what went on between their mother, their father and me. So that helps. But it’s still bittersweet.

Elihu comes over to me and whispers ‘do you hear that, Mommy? She’s got a British accent!’ I listen for a moment, and yes, I hear the sweet little voice of a girl who no longer sounds like she’s from Denver. I almost want to say hello, but there’s no reason. I hear her mother, and I might say hello to her too, but for what? This is their call, and really, it’s not my business. Again, this moment just feels strange.

They are so far away, yet they are so intimately a part of our own lives. They seem as unrelated as strangers, and yet they clearly aren’t. Life sure is unpredictable and full of contradictions…

Kaboom!

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Mommy Mind2 Comments

Well. Everything had settled nicely, in spite of Fareed’s having put ‘summer shit’ in the subject line of his emails. I understand his frustration. I do. But finally it seemed we’d hit upon a win-win. Elihu would remain in Saratoga for the 4th of July, and then he would spend a good, long vacation in Dekalb with Fareed later in the summer. Then, in looking more closely at Fareed’s open-ended, still-not- defined-by-exact-dates proposed visit, I realized that he might well be here with us on the 4th. While his visiting is always welcome, and we usually have a fine time (I make a nice dinner or two, we have a little family excursion, etc.) I knew that for some reason, Elihu had liked spending the holiday just me and him. So in the spirit of this full-disclosure, give-the-kid-his-voice sort of debate we’d entered into since last night, I thought it better to address it now than later. So I did. Guess I should have prefaced it with some explanation, because the response was anything but friendly. Really. And I was stopped. It’s stuff like this that has my heart racing whenever I see an email from Fareed. I hate this stuff. Man I do. Guess I need thicker skin.

I, of course, will not copy his email here, but suffice to say that his main points were these: 1) I am deeply selfish 2) Waldorf is selfish 3) I have lots of bad karma coming my way because of points 1 and 2. Man. Seriously??  I’m not good with this kind of crap. Plus he says it all in a facetious tone, which makes it even sicker to hear. Am I so selfish?? I honestly don’t think so. But he does, which has me wondering – what would he have me do to think otherwise? I know him pretty well, so I can guess… He’s told me before to get a job. Ok, a job between 8 and 1:30. Hmm. That I don’t have to work nights or weekends. No place will accept those terms, I know, I’ve applied to them all! Hmm, maybe I should think outside the box… I know! I can teach piano lessons! That way I can be home with my child, plus  make some income! Obviously, that’s not good enough for him. Hey, if I weren’t a single, full-time mom, there are lots of things I might do. But for now, they’re not options. But tell that to Fareed. He will not hear it.

What else might I do to change Fareed’s seeing me as a selfish, mean bitch? Letting him stay with us on the 4th? I really don’t care that much if he does or not. If that’s all it takes to calm this fire, maybe I’ll just tell Elihu it ain’t worth making a fuss over. I think he’ll understand.

Fireworks, indeed. Blew up in my face, they did. Can’t wait for the 4th…

______________________________________________________________

Here is the response I sent to his nasty email. Sigh. Are my feelings clear?? Hope so.

Look, Elihu and I have our thing – and you and Elihu have yours. !  I’m not being mean – come on – give me a break!! You’re always welcome when you’re here – I always make sure to have good food and make you comfortable. Where is this coming from??? Elihu expects it will be the two of us here on the 4th – he’s talked about that before. I’ll talk with him again about it if you want – all you have to do is ask nicely!! Why this venom?? I’m just speaking up for our son! There’s no personal attack on you here, I assure you!

That you still can’t see the incredible opportunity and gift that Waldorf is (I do realize you’re not here to witness it) and continue to bring it up as if it were some horrible mistake or selfish move on my part (?!) – that itself shows inherent selfishness. I am Elihu’s advocate, so I had to get him into that school. Plus I also encourage his relationship with you. It blows my mind that you don’t appreciate either one of those things.

After all the heartbreak and shit you’ve put on me, that you can even get angry at me is evidence that you’re lost to reason.  And I thought we were all three finding a happy balance. I was thrilled we’d finally found a happy solution for this summer. Had we not?? Damn. I couldn’t be more surprised by your venom.

Karma? I think I’m doing a good job of playing nice, building a good life for our son, and respecting your needs as a father. I look forward to my ‘karmic payback’ – because I’ll reap love and kindness. I know you will too, when you’re free of all this hate vision and can see that none of my actions are about anything but creating a good life for me and our son. My needs are modest, my requests of life are few. My objective is not to break anyone’s heart, but to see everyone feel respected and satisfied.

Can’t you please be nice? I’m trying my best, I hope you can do the same.

Family Fireworks

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Mommy MindLeave a comment

I hate this. I really do. Fareed misses his son and has a busy life. A touring schedule, other kids, plans, expectations… He wants Elihu to come to Illinois for the beginning of July and stay for the fourth. Yet Elihu really wants to be here for the 4th of July. I wish there was some way for me to explain to Fareed that I’m actually lobbying for him; I try to frame the situation for Elihu in such a way that he understands he’ll enjoy himself there, that he won’t miss anything by being in Illinois on the fourth. I myself didn’t know quite why it was so important to Elihu that he be here on the Fourth of July until he finally explained it to me today; he likes the unstructured nature of our July 4th holiday in Saratoga. He can play his drum on the street, he can watch a parade, he can play with the ducks in the park and run around with kids he meets. Serendipity guides us and sometimes magical events appear. They have in the past, but who knows how this fourth will pan out? I remind him that we don’t know if it’ll be as great as he hopes. But then Elihu points out that with two little ones in tow they end up planning everything in Illinois. Life with his little brothers is much more structured, and Elihu feels confined. He says there’s no room for anything unexpected or unplanned to happen when he’s with them. I get it. I do. But his father needs to see him. What do I do?

They’re on the phone right now discussing it. I’m happy to know that Elihu finally feels he has a voice in all this. Elihu has his chicken calendar out and I can hear him considering different options with his dad. I want everyone to be happy. But for now I’m staying out of it. My stress level rises when I receive emails from Fareed about vacation plans. It’s so hard to make sure everyone gets what they want. Elihu just told me that they’ve figured out a plan that works, and he’s bopping around the house in a good mood. I’m glad he’s happy, but his energy is through the roof and it’s nearly nine now – and once again we’re getting to bed too late on a school night. I gotta get him wound down somehow. And the chickens aren’t even in yet cuz it’s still kind of light out, so I still have to go deal with that. Ugh. I just want to go to sleep already. I’m so done with my day.

I hope it works out well for all of us, cuz I’m too tired for fireworks tonite.

F*ck This

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Farm Life, Mommy Mind8 Comments

In kind of a self-sorry funk today. My May support never arrived from Fareed, and here it is nearly June. I can’t pay my phone bill and may not make it the weekend without my internet, cable and phone being cutoff. I fucking hate being so dependent upon someone who doesn’t care. And I won’t have my son here this holiday weekend to distract me from my mood. Elihu gets on a plane today and joins his father – they meet at O’Hare. Dad gets in from London and Elihu from Albany. Hope it all works. Can’t fret about that. It’ll be fine. Now my kid has a watch, a cell phone and a good book. And good sense. He’ll be fine. As for me, I’m left with lots of pasta in my pantry, but just about five bucks in my pocket. And I’m pretty pissed about it.

I am sinking today, I admit it. I’m angry at Fareed for leaving. I’m angry that he had another woman pregnant at the same time as me. I’m angry that he CCs me on emails that rejoice enthusiastically in the “family all being together” when he talks about plans for our son, his girlfriend, their kids and my parents-in-law to have dinner at the Pump Room in Chicago. I’m angry at his parents for not caring how we’re doing, for not offering to pay for half of Waldorf. I’m angry at myself for having no life outside of being a mom. I’m goddam tired of having a fucking rooster crow in my open window all fucking day long and not having the bread to fence him in properly. I’m tired of being two dress sizes too big. I’m tired of being poor. I’m tired of having no friends, tired of having no life. I miss making music. I wish I could play my Wurlitzer again with a band. I fucking miss the world I knew. Been here four years this coming August, and I still have no appreciable life to speak of. My son does – and this, of course, is the current priority – but I myself have little to look forward to, little to do that I enjoy. It really seems like all I do is the goddam dishes and the goddam laundry. I so wish I had a dishwasher. Must spend an hour a day washing goddam dishes, and seems there’s laundry every day. The only social life I have is when my piano students and their families come by. If it weren’t for them, I could go weeks without seeing another person besides my son.

Today I’ve fucking had it. And about the only thing that feels good is typing the expletive “fuck”.

I know I’ll feel better when some money arrives. I got paid for a lesson last night, and for a moment I almost felt as if I could breathe better. But it’ll barely pay for the gas to get to and from the airport today. So for the long weekend I got nothing. Not that I need it, I really don’t. And that’s the crazy thing about all this. When I think about it, having  money or not is really all kind of abstract and makes no true sense. When I know I have no money at all, my whole being gets bummed out, depressed, deflated – and the future appears to hold no promise. So then I get some cash and somehow – it is indeed all an abstraction, an illusion – I feel better. My whole being feels lighter, less threatened. But in reality, the influx of money isn’t much; it doesn’t actually accomplish a lot. If it takes away the threat of having my electricity cutoff, that’s understandable, and if it replenishes my supply of toilet paper, that’s good too, so there are some tangible reasons for its ability to lift my spirits. But beyond that, it’s really only illusory. Nothing amazing and truly life-augmenting will come of the new cash flow. Yet somehow, it lifts me from my funk. It carries me, buoys my spirit, makes all things suddenly seem possible. It restores hope. Crazy, huh? Yes. Crazy.

I need to rise above this crap. But today, being hopeful and upbeat is not my natural state. Plus I thought there was so much happy talk here that it might not be such a bad idea to temper it with a post that was probably more in line with my mood much of the time. Yes, I’ll turn it around, and no I don’t live like this most of the time – but the poverty thing is always present, and try as I may to pretend I’m feeling great, doing ok and fed and clothed, etc, deep down I admit I harbor a bit of resentment about not having what I’d like to have – what I used to have. And I should be ashamed, I’ve got it good. My child and I aren’t hungry, we’re warm, clothed. I have a grand piano and my son has a fleet of RC helicopters. By some luck, for being broke, we got a lot goin for us. Yes, I know this. But today I’m indulging. Just today.

I’ll be back to hopeful again tomorrow. I promise.

Advocate for an Achromat

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind1 Comment

It’s been over a month since Elihu has seen his father, and until last night it had been over a week since he’d spoken to him on the phone. Recently Elihu’s been keenly missing his dad; there were several over-tired moments this past week when he would simply weep, repeating over and over that he ‘wanted his daddy’. Heartbreaking as it is to see this, there’s little I can do to help but to gently remind him that he’ll see him soon. Sometimes my saying anything actually makes it worse; sometimes the only thing I can do is watch him in love as he cries, reminding myself it won’t be forever.

This week Fareed has been unreachable, as he was in the Netherlands and was busy with concerts and teaching. Elihu jokingly renamed the country the ‘Neverlands’ because it seemed like his father was never coming back. But finally, last night, after some frustratingly protracted issues with bad internet connections (resulting in more tears) Fareed was able to Skype with Elihu from his stop over in London.

Elihu, as some may know, is afflicted by a disorder of the retina which makes seeing in bright light impossible. He is most comfortable seeing in 25 watts or so of light, even 40 watts can be too much, making him have to squint his eyes in order to see. I have done my best to create the most comfortable atmosphere possible for him here at home, covering much of the windows with a plastic tint, using low wattage bulbs in all the lights, keeping the computer screen on the lowest brightness setting. (My college education as a film major taught me that the bright light of the outdoors is not simply ‘much brighter’ than artificial, indoor light, but that it is exponentially brighter. For those of us who see normally this is almost impossible to really understand. But it is so. Imagine then the challenge Elihu has in existing in this bright, bright world.) The camera on his computer requires a bit more light than he is comfortable with in order to make his image visible on the other end of a video call. To make sure he can be seen on the other end, we often open up the curtains on the picture window in the living room. It’s bit too bright for him, but so is the whole world; it’s a tiny price to pay for a conversation with his father.

Last night, when we finally had a connection established, I lingered a moment to make sure they were up and running before I left the room to give them some privacy. As I was turning to leave I heard Fareed’s first words to his son. Laughing, he asked why Elihu was squinting. What?! I thought – did he really ask Elihu this? Seriously? Elihu responded by saying he wasn’t squinting. The poor kid has to do it so much that often he honestly doesn’t even realize when he’s doing it. Sometimes too he denies it because he hates it when people mention it. He’s just doing what he needs to in order to see, to function. So this is his father, his loving father who knows his situation better than most – why in hell would this be the first thing he says to his son? And why did he laugh when he said it? I felt the implication of his tone – it was almost mocking, at the very least it was incredibly insensitive – and Elihu felt it too. I was instantly livid. What a stupid prick, I thought. Man, what a fucking prick. Elihu had it in hand. “I have the curtains open.” he answered his father. Was it me, or did I detect a smaller voice, a meeker than usual tone? Is he a little caught off guard, as was I? Or am I over reacting? I stay a moment more to hear what his dad will say next. Fareed continued to chuckle while he said something more about how much Elihu was squinting – implying it was somehow too much. Really? You haven’t heard from your son in over a week – you send emails and voice mails about how much you miss your son – and this is how you kick off your first visit?? I stood there getting angrier. But again, there’s nothing I can do. Can’t intervene, don’t want to highlight it anyway by doing so. So I take a breath and leave the room. Elihu can fend for himself. Just wish he didn’t have to do so with his father.

People often ask me when I truly knew that there was something ‘wrong’ with Elihu’s eyes. I can tell you the exact date. It was Sunday, August 24th, 2003. Around eight pm. I remember this date because across the street my neighbors were having their usual Sunday night dinner, and Studs and Ida Terkel were among the many guests. It was always a group of interesting people; artists, writers, thinkers, musicians, teachers. I’d intended to go too, with my beautiful new baby in arms for all to see, but the night was not going as planned. Beset as I was with an unhappy baby, I soon forgot about the party. My whole focus that night became instead about calming my unsettled child.

I was alone in the house. Fareed, as he was most of the time, was somewhere else. Elihu had been a colicky infant and that particular night had been a difficult one. I was frustrated with Elihu, and the only thing that seemed to calm him was moving him – bouncing, swaying, rocking endlessly. He’d quiet for a while, then start up screaming again. I was careful to hold him close to me as I swayed back and forth, images of shaken baby syndrome fearfully warning me not to move too violently. I rocked our bodies back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Truthfully, I was angry that it took this much to quiet him. That night I was losing patience. I rocked us both harder and harder. It wasn’t working. Just what did I need to do to get this baby to feel better? I was at my wit’s end.

I remember the scene well; we were in his tiny, dimly lit bedroom with the 1950s Swedish-designed wallpaper and the tall, exposed wood beamed ceiling and I was trying to get him to bed. I remember pulling him away from my body after I’d swung him, sitting back down in the rocking chair and looking into his face. His eyes were trembling. His irises were wiggling. Oh my God, I thought. I did this! I did this to him! I was flushed with adrenaline and an instant, profound fear. I had shaken my baby after all, and now his eyes bounced. I must have done this, mustn’t I have? His eyes weren’t like this a few moments ago! I asked him to forgive me, I told him that he would be ok, nothing bad had happened. I told myself he was changed for life and that I had done it. I alone had ruined it all because of my impatience, my anger and frustration. I told myself I couldn’t possibly have done this, I told myself he was fine, this would surely pass. I told myself a million things in the space of a minute. I tried to calm myself, to soothe my baby, to think logically. I sat and waited. I thought about it. I had a deep, undefined nagging feeling that there was more to this than I knew. After all, I’d known something was ‘wrong’ with my child even a few months earlier. But I alone had felt like this – not even his father had shared my vague but real concern in those first few months.

When Elihu was just two months old I knew that something was amiss with him. Something. But I could not figure it out. I did, however, notice that when I took him outside for walks that he would scrunch up his face and turn to the side, hiding his face as best he could. He would never open his eyes to people on the street, yet once inside a darkly lit coffee shop or store he would blossom, eyes now open, finally alert and responding to his surroundings like a normal baby. But just as soon as we were outside again he would transform. Knowing what I do about light and its properties, I’m surprised that it took me so long to figure out that light itself was the main problem. (An ironic situation too – we lived in a mid-century house with a twenty foot ceiling and an enormous, south-facing wall of glass in our living room. To say that the room was always well-lit is an understatement.)

After that August night Elihu’s eyes continued to bounce and wiggle, and soon Fareed shared my concern about its cause. I came clean about his colicky night and how I’d rocked him so hard – but we both didn’t feel this was the culprit. After checking with his pediatrician, a couple of months later we took Elihu to Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago to have an MRI in order to rule out a possible tumor in his brain. It could be a tumor that made his eyes wiggle. Or it could be an eye disorder; it might simply be Nystagmus – or it could be Achromatopsia. And if it was Achromatopsia, there were many kinds.  There was still the chance that he might see blue. Maybe yellow. We wouldn’t learn that until later. Of course, we hoped for the eye disorder and not the tumor. But when we learned that it was the latter, I myself didn’t find relief in the diagnosis, but rather felt the weight of our life’s course – our son’s life course – instantly changed. My heart was broken for him. I remember standing in the lobby of the hospital with tears streaming down my cheeks. I also remember thinking how foolish I was, how selfish. Kids walked by, rolling their IV poles alongside them, other kids with shaved heads passed by us, visiting with their families, happy and being children. My God, I thought, some of these children may not even know if they’ll even live to grow up – I am lucky. Elihu is lucky! I should be ashamed of myself for crying! This is crazy… Yet all I could think of was magenta and green. My favorite (albeit visual guilty pleasure) combination of colors. One of the things I couldn’t wait to share with my child. The pinks and greens of spring. My son would never see them. To me this was unthinkable. When we used to play that game as children, asking each other whether we’d rather be blind or deaf, in spite of being a musician myself, and a girl who spent hours and hours lost in her LPs, I would answer ‘deaf’ without hesitation. Silence I could take. But never to see color? No. Too much to take. Yet here we were.

Long before a child can speak, it’s apparent that the child can understand, and the child can communicate in many non-verbal ways. When Elihu was about a year old, I began some informal experiments to learn better just how much he was understanding – more specifically, what might he understand about color. We had a group of large plastic blocks in primary colors. In that Elihu was developmentally on target in every way, I knew he’d be able to distinguish these simple colors from each other, even if he couldn’t verbalize it. I’d make piles of yellow. Of red and blue. Then I’d repeat the color over and over, hoping he’d make the connection. It was absolutely mystifying to me how clueless he was about it all. He seemed to get yellow – and he’d often successfully place the yellow block I’d give him with the rest of the yellow blocks. That I got, after all yellow is much lighter. (We always used to say “yellow is bright, it’s almost white” when we were assigning values to different colors.) But the red and the blue – so clearly different to my eyes – seemed to be indistinguishable from one another to him. Over and over I repeated this with never any improvement in the results. This was the period in which I began to accept his vision as quite different from mine. The period in which I began to educate myself. The time in which I began to feel different from the other moms.

Fareed wasn’t around much – he taught in a far away town, and when he wasn’t teaching he was often touring. I’d always felt it was the two of us, Elihu and me, waiting for the time in which Fareed would tour less and be with us more. But until that time came, I knew that my life’s main focus was to to raise our son and to give him the help he needed to function well in the world. Naturally I did everything I could think of to make Elihu’s life in the world easier. I’d cut and glue lenses together from several pairs of kiddie sunglasses in order to make a pair dark enough. It didn’t work. The outside world didn’t exist in any meaningful way for us the first two years of his life. Fareed tends to think much like his father when it comes to existing with a handicap; make no special accommodations for the person, and keep your expectations of that person high. A sort of ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ mentality. And while I know Fareed’s father to have helped some young, physically challenged people become successful adults through his mentorship, I knew this situation needed a bit more finesse. Fareed didn’t always agree with me. He just wasn’t as bothered by Elihu’s discomfort as I was. Frankly, he was probably too busy with his life to give much emotional energy to it. I, however, lived with Elihu every day and knew in my gut that we needed to fix the situation. It was bad enough being isolated by virtue of being a single mother at home, but not being able to go outside made it worse. I don’t think Fareed quite understood it. But I did, and made it my job to find a solution.

I can’t remember how I found Dr. Derrald Taylor but it was life-changing for us. I remember the three of us going to the Illinois School of Optometry on the south side of Chicago on a windy and sunny summer day. As usual, I’d had a hat on Elihu and carried him across the parking lot, although at over two years old he could have walked. He could have – had he been able to see. But he was essentially blind when outside. Until that day Elihu had not yet walked outside without a hat or guiding hands nearby. Dr. Taylor was a low vision specialist, and before that day I don’t think I even knew the term. I was full of hope that morning, but yet nervous and concerned that we were searching for a solution that didn’t exist. Fareed was his usual self, cheerful, charming and collected – nothing on the outside belied any concern on the inside. Dr. Taylor was peaceful and measured. He was not in a hurry. He had a wonderful, gentle demeanor. He told me he knew exactly what Elihu needed. I hope he enjoyed the look on my face; I was stunned at his certitude. No one before had hardly even believed me – but here I was with another human being who truly knew what we were experiencing – how my son existed in his world. “I have three pairs of glasses. We’ll take Elihu outside.” “The sun is out – we can’t.” I countered, my heart sinking again as I knew it was too good to be true. Dr. Taylor reassured me, and lead us to the courtyard. Although I’m not sure why, a nurse had also come along with us. As we neared the glass doors I picked Elihu up and he turned his face into my shoulder. The five of us stood under an apple tree and Dr. Taylor handed me a small pair of red plastic framed sunglasses which I put on Elihu. He couldn’t lift his head far. “Nope.” Dr. Taylor said. “Try these.” These were darker, and Elihu could now lift his head – all the way up. I had never seen this before. I began to get excited. Still, he couldn’t walk anywhere. “Ok. Try these.” Dr. Taylor handed me a third pair, they were the darkest glasses I had ever seen, and I put them on Elihu, who now stood on the ground by my side, waiting. Immediately, it was as if a curtain had been pulled back to reveal a huge world beyond, and Elihu, in the true and natural spirit of a toddler ran out into the grass. Joy burst open inside me and I started crying. It was so sudden – so perfect… My heart was full, and I was overcome with relief. I looked to Fareed – I’d thought he too would be crying for joy like me. I was surprised that he was not. I looked to my right, and the nurse who stood beside me was crying too – we nodded to each other, smiling through our tears. As taken by the sight of our child walking unassisted as I was – outdoors on a sunny day no less! – I felt a hint of disappointment and curiosity even, as to why my husband seemed so much less moved. Had we not been on this journey together? Had he not felt anguish for his son? Had he not spent hours upon hours fretting over Elihu’s problem? Maybe he felt it but it just didn’t register on his face. I didn’t get it. But it would have to be set aside for now. Elihu was running! I was amazed, I was thrilled. I could breathe now. Elihu could finally go outside. We could join the world. For me this felt like the true beginning of our life.

I know Fareed loves his son. I also know that Fareed doesn’t tend to show his true emotions – he certainly doesn’t wear them on his sleeve as I do. But still, I’ve often wondered about that day. I may have asked him once about it – if I did, I didn’t get any answer. I do know he’s a good father. But I just have this tiny gut feeling that on some level he doesn’t get it. A few months ago Elihu left his only pair of dark glasses in Chicago and they had to return on the train without them. Elihu is a trooper – and made it without complaining (he’s also not stupid – he knew damn well it was his own fault and so therefore kept his mouth shut.!) but Fareed seemed almost surprised when he recounted to me how he’d had to “lead him by the hand while he walked with his eyes closed”. Yeah, I know. You surprised? I’m not. And while I won’t coddle my son, I also won’t pretend he doesn’t have unique needs. I’m doing everything I can to make him feel that he’s not different (he’s almost like an adolescent girl in his over zealous aversion to appear different from the norm in any way) but I’ll always make sure he has exactly what he needs. I will always try to level the playing field in any way I can. Part of that advocacy is also about acknowledging that he is different – but then moving on to live beyond it. It’s important not to pretend the handicap doesn’t exist! But then it’s equally important not to call undue and extra attention to it.

Some days I may lament being a single parent to an only child, but some days I thank the heavens that I have been given the gift to be able to look out for my child as truly no one else can. I am free to help my son as he needs. I don’t have the burden of having to check with his father, to wait on outside approval before I take action. If I think we need to drive thirty miles to see a low vision doc, then that’s what we’re doing. If my kid needs glasses, I’m going to find him the best, darkest damn glasses possible. I’m going to make it better.

Yeah, I can tell when my kid is squinting, when he’s having a hard time seeing, but he’s doing what he needs to do, and I’m going to let it be. He knows what he has to do. So do I.

Retro Post: How I Spent My Summer (2011)

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Elihu's Room, Mommy Mind, Retro PostLeave a comment

In filing a mass of papers from our life over the past year or more, I’m finding things that I’d like to share. For no particular reasons, and also for many tiny ones. So here’s Elihu’s first mandatory assignment of third grade; the classic summary of his summer vacation, an assignment for which he was given just four rather small boxes in which to recount his adventures. Hardly seems enough, but he gets his points across. I don’t keep any formal memory books, but I’ll archive these pages somewhere safe for us to revisit when Elihu’s kids are themselves writing little pieces kinda like this.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Elihu Haque (w/drawing of long-necked bird leaning in to inspect the title)

Flying RC planes. This plane has a four foot wingspan and flew above the clouds. My friends came to see.

Went to Chicago. Got to see old friends. It was fun to see my mom’s old friends. Got to play at Mom’s gig. (He sang at Fitzgerald’s with The Prohibition Orchestra of Chicago.)

Playing at the Green Mill. Played hand drums with dad. Played for one whole set. (Yup, he did. And tonite, all these months later, he is very likely on stage at the Green Mill playing his djembe while I am writing this.)

And overall it was a great summer, no I mean AWESOME!!