It was almost a year after losing my wife that I went on my first date. It was a friendship that became romantic. We eased my sons into the idea by holding hands and hugging a little longer than usual. I saw my older, Westen, nine at the time, watching closely. We stole kisses here and there. We weren’t very careful and didn’t think much of it. He saw us once. His reaction seemed exaggerated and we thought it was a game, so we kissed again. It wasn’t a game. He was upset to the point of angry, despaired crying. I feel guilt over mismanaging that moment.
He said it wasn’t the kiss, but how we kissed, “You didn’t kiss Mom like that.”
“Fuuuck.” The word consumed my brain so that I almost spoke it. He was right. I loved Mary with everything I had and she loved me with all that she had. I was passionate for her, but she couldn’t reciprocate. We talked and agonized over it for years, looking for a place to meet and be happy in romance. We didn’t get the chance to figure it out. It’s the only question I have left about our marriage.
What do our children need to know about that? I want them to know that relationships take work and that you can love someone and have differences and you will have obstacles to master. I want them to be comfortable with the physical expression of love. To know their own needs and ask for them to be met. I want to show them all the things that love means: faith, communication, passion, patience, nurturing, empathy…
When I was a little younger than Westen, my parents were openly passionate for each other. I loved that. When I was his age I watched the passion disappear. I told myself I wanted that previous state, even if I didn’t understand it. I wanted kids and a wife I couldn’t keep my hands off. I’m the luckiest guy, I got my childhood dream.
Now I get to dream again. I get to love after love. I get to model what it means to be a gentleman, to be kind and strong, to have boundaries, to love oneself, to court a beautiful woman, and show as much care for myself as I do for her.
It all feels so damn right, then a year passes, then another kiss, then another meltdown.
I came here writing hoping to find my tragic flaw. Hamlet’s indecisiveness? Lear’s hubris? Othello’s jealousy? But I’m not a tragic figure. I’ve journeyed into the hinterlands, slayed the dragons, and come back with the girl.
Maybe it’s time to accept that Westen’s journey is his own. He’s been through hell. He’s slayed his own dragons. He’s as brave and strong as anyone I know. Maybe I can’t help him through his next steps.
It’s really hard to say that about a ten-year-old boy. It takes all the love and trust and faith I write about.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I’ve been waiting a year to write it and couldn’t have done it until now. The problem feels less intractable now. This one was really just for me, but I sure hope it can help someone else.
God bless,
Jason