Accepting reality… It has been nearly a year since I received my walking papers.  Six months since the divorce was final. Yeah, yeah, whatever. The marriage was long dead before that process started.

I have been through the stages of grief. Some of them simultaneously. Some of them several times.

Most of these stages, I see now, were more related to the loss of a Family Ideal as opposed to the actual family setup. To be sure, most of my grief was directly related to the loss of a bare bones family setting for my son to experience in his childhood. I should have realized that when the other part of the equation would get furious when I referred to us as a Family or Family Unit.
Yeah, yeah, yeah… I did love his mother. But that was mostly a futile effort. The sentiment was not reciprocated. And, in a lot of respects, I was less than a stellar husband to this woman. I would have been had she helped me hold on, though. But that was not meant to be!
Things work out for the best, though. Now that I have tasted a slight bit of sanity (and FREEDOM)… I could never see myself being in that type of environment for that long. I do not understand why I stayed so long.

Indeed, there are many things that I do not (and will not) understand. Maybe I am not supposed to! At least at this point in time.

Yes, it does hurt me to think that my son is not being raised in a nuclear family setting. A LOVING nuclear family setting. However, that is out of my control. I did the best that I possibly could. And, you know, I do not need to dwell on that for too long, or I will be right back in an ANGER stage.

Sheeeeeesh, I do not want to walk around in perpetuity repeating the phrase “fuck a bitch” in my mind… No, no! I prefer to be in the mode to say… “It’s your loss, bitch. I am going to do the best for my son. You, my dear, can sit in the nest you made.”

The more I consider things, the more I realize that I am not nearly ready for a loving and caring relationship. I do need more time to lick my wounds. And, honestly, I am not really capable of providing the support (emotional or otherwise) that a new partner may need. At least, at this point in time.

No, I need to focus on my son for a while. And that is what I will do. I will concern myself with my son, work… and casual relationships until such time that things change. If they never change… or if it is 20 years from now… then all is fine.

Because I sure as hell do not want to be back in ANY kind of relationship that is even REMOTELY similar to the shit I am (in the process of) evacuating. Yeah, I have a few friends… some closer than others… people I care about… But, honestly, my heart is just not there… At times it wants to be… but I am just not ready.

Finally, it seems as if… the first human impulse is to replace what we THINK we need to have. Even if we just settle for the first thing that comes along… We feel as though we should just jump in and see if it works.

That is just a little too shallow for me. At this point in time. You can critisize me if you wish, but I am not jumping in with both feet… No, no! I am going to test the water for a LONG time before I commit to anything substantial… NO MATTER WHAT MY LITTLE BRAIN TELLS ME TO DO!

But, anyway… if you are just leaving HELL… here is what you can expect to experience (and do not necessarily depend on someone else making it better for you):

Five Stages Of Grief

1. Denial and Isolation.
   At first, we tend to deny the loss has taken place, and may withdraw from our usual social contacts. This stage may last a few moments, or longer.
2. Anger.
   The grieving person may then be furious at the person who inflicted the hurt (even if she’s dead), or at the world, for letting it happen. He may be angry with himself for letting the event take place, even if, realistically, nothing could have stopped it.
3. Bargaining.
   Now the grieving person may make bargains with God, asking, “If I do this, will you take away the loss?”
4. Depression.
   The person feels numb, although anger and sadness may remain underneath.
5. Acceptance.
   This is when the anger, sadness and mourning have tapered off. The person simply accepts the reality of the loss.

So, for the past five or six months, I have basically been a drunkard. However, I made a decision a few days ago to pull myself out of this self-imposed exile… this funk of feeling-sorry-for-myself, and get on with my life. This change had been coming for quite a while. It needed to happen three months ago. Nay, it needed to have never happened. But it did. And now I must move on.

These past three nights with my son has only reinforced my will to acknowledge this thing that had taken grasp of my consciousness. Indeed, the seminal moment happened tonight.

After a long, hard day of being rough and rowdy boys… playtime turned into bedtime. Or, at least, I thought so. Wanted it to be. ETC. Breckin’s bed was made, the diaper changed… the juice, toy cars and stuffed animals scattered through his bed…

He even said “Breckin’s Sleepy.”

But there was a problem. A half-consumed Sonic Cranberry Slush sat on his little table… one and all that he noticed as we were walking to his bedroom. He let me know that he wanted the slush. “Breckin wants Slush!”

My mind (and seconds later… mouth) let him know that he did not need the slush.  And continued on toward his bedroom. Put him in his bed. And the fit ensued.

This brings to mind, real quick, the cricket story. A couple of months ago, Breckin brought to me a cricket. He was holding it in his hand. So I said, “NASTY,” and flushed it down the toliet. Bad mistake. He cried, his feelings hurt, for fifteen minutes. We found another cricket, and all was eventually well.

Same case, different scenario, occurred tonight. Breckin was not quite ready to go to bed. I WAS READY FOR HIM TO GO TO BED. I was impatient. I wanted, selfishly, to do… Daddy things.

He had other things in mind.

So, after about three minutes, I retrieved him from his bedroom, consoled and cooled him down… and we sat on the couch and finished watching over the hedge. The little man sitting in my lap, playing with his “Snot Rod” car… me kissing the back of his head, telling him that I love him.

And, Lord knows I do. Real Love. A love that words will NEVER be able to describe.

So, we sat there… Father and Son… snuggling. Kissing. And he turned his head, looked at me and said to me… “Daddy has great kisses.”

My God. My whole existence… Everything I have ever done, everything that I am… STOPPED. And I felt that moment. A moment that may never come again. That closeness. That understanding. That love.

He was ready for bed. He told me so… “Breckin go to bed.”

And there he is… and here I am.