The above photographs are of my son on his seventh birthday. This would be his last birthday in our home as a family unit. For the next five long, painful, heartbreaking years, Tristan was barely in my life. Due to my ongoing mental illness, compounded by the evils of drink, my wife thought it best that they leave. She did was she knew was right and I respect what she did.Five years of desperation, five years of coming so close to killing myself, five years of battling the opposing forces in my mind. Somewhere in that murky fog that surrounded my being, I noticed the flickering light of opportunity. The opportunity to find some clarity, the chance to make amends with those confused by my illness.
I had enough resolve left to reach out for those last fragile threads of my sanity. His visits to me increased. My former spouse, seeing that I was trying so hard to be better, to get better, allowed Tristan to stay on the weekends. He was now nearly twelve, he told me that he was so sad.
My little boy, my little 'man', had to tell his Mother that he was not happy, he wanted to live with Dad. For many a week he thought through how he would tell his Mum. For many a week, I told him that it best that I stayed in the background whilst he wrestled with his dilemma. I knew that if I spoke on his behalf, it would most likely be construed that I had tried to influence him.
All I ever wanted for Tristan was for him to be happy. Regardless of who he lived with. Early September, 200l, my son came to live with me. I recall so vividly that September morning, when he went off to meet new people, make new friends at Westwood high school. In our hallway, he stood in front of the full length mirror and stated: "Dad, I'm well nervous." I gave him a reassuring smile. Off he went, a new start, a new life. I was so proud of Tristan, I can imagine how anxious the thought of starting again must have been.
So now I was a single Father. A single Father battling with his mental health issues. Yet, know I had motivation, a reason to live. I was determined to make my home a warm, safe environment for Tristan and his new friends. I discovered a renewed energy, an invigorating sensation, to get things done. I decorated my home, heck, I even kept it neat. My goodness, I was so house-proud.
Today, I looked out my window, observed the beauty of the garden I created. I reflected back over the last seven years and thought about just how far I've come, indeed, how far we both had travelled. Our journey has been one of much emotional upheaval, with many a high and low. I know that, one day, he will travel down another road. This road will lead to his destiny. I applaud him, I cheer him, I know he will be alright.
My son has bestowed upon me a great gift. The gift of wanting to live. My son has saved my life. For the love of a son, I know that my life has a purpose.
Birthdays and the memories they can bring back to us. In a split second, a return to every detail and then forward in time, where hopefully love has come to dwell.
ReplyDeleteKlahanie, your sharing creates realistic hopes, dreams, and the capablities to have them come true. Bless you both with many, many more years to come. You are right to be proud and express it so.
My peace and kindness, dcrelief
Hello dcrelief,
ReplyDeleteBless you for your comment. I have tried so hard to be a good Dad. He became my positive focus. Once again, I had someone to look after, to be there for.
The emotional numbness of the long years he was away, almost destroyed me. Yet I hope I have demonstrated, no matter how daunting life can seem, there is always a way.
Thank you dcrelief.
Dear klahanie,
ReplyDeleteWell done on being such a good Dad despite your illness. Many of us would have shied away from such responsibility throughout our illnesses. It just goes to show that you truly care.
Anyway, he is so much better looking than you are!
And thanks for your comments on my own blog. I seemed to be having a little trouble there with pha..pha..pha..whatever his name was. Indeed, whatever we print here may be crap, but it's our own crap.
Thanks klahanie,
Yours with all the Best,
David.
Dear David,
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comment. Just call me 'Mr. dad-type dude'.
Yes, you are right, he is so much better looking than me. He is, without any hint of bias, very, very good looking, whilst humble lil' ol' me is just 'plain' good looking. (he states ever so modestly)
Yes indeedy do, there most certainly has been some action on your blog.
Kind wishes to you David. klahanie (some dude about to pose in front of his full length mirror)
A few tears here. I'm so glad he came back to live with you, so you had that time together. I know a guy who was denied access to his son from the age of 6 - 15. By the time he was able to get close to him again, by his son's own choice rather than his mother forcing her influence upon him, he was no longer a little boy. They have a good relationship but he missed so much. I'm really glad you got some of that time, and it's a mark of the good man you are that his mother's belief in you was there to some extent, along with Tristan's clear vision of course. A happy ending, though hard, quite wonderful. X
ReplyDeleteHi All Consuming,
ReplyDeleteVery kind of you to take the time to comment on this archived posting from November, 2008.
Thank you so much. I tried to do as much as possible to make up for the lost years apart. It took tremendous courage on my son to tell his mum he didn't want to live with her. It's heartening to know, despite such a gap in time, that the guy who was denied access to his son during such tender years, got the chance to be back into the life of his son, now a young man.
I have, I believe shown, with virtually no help from his mother, that I could do it alone. These days, my son is going through the torment on not having a job and his skills he studied for, have been going to waste. Yet, despite it all, he knows I will continue to do my utmost to provide him with a warm, safe and pressure free environment.
Thank you for this. You are most kind.
X