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By Mama Paloma, 28/05/2010 07:07

This past week, I have commented to several people that all I need is for someone to fall into a random coma, and maybe someone to go to prison, and I can sell my life to Telemundo as a novela. Seriously, this situation is at once a freaking soap opera and a bowl full of cliches. I know that there is a vast audience out there, waiting on the edge of your seats for the next installment, so here goes.

He called me tonight. He explained his side of things. His explanation puts him this side of the various diagnoses given by friends and family–I am pretty sure he isn’t delusional, or a sociopath–but a bit far from being a stand-up, trustworthy guy. He feels bad that AJ and I ended up in the middle of his drama, though I am not at all sure how strongly that registered in the context of all of the people he has very pissed of with him right now.

I felt better after the call. Not naively better. Just not adrift in the way I had been feeling. Mostly, I think it is because he reaffirmed his commitment to AJ and asked me to keep working with him to build that connection.

I pointed out that this situation is a bit of a setback…that I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. That I can’t think it won’t happen again. We talked for a long time about how to move forward. I suggested that step one should be that he ‘not fucking lie to me.’ Eloquent, I know.

And we will see. I have been taking this all a step at a time and will continue to do so. Maybe smaller steps. I don’t know.

Earlier this week, I posted this Nietzche quote. I really like it. And it’s where I am right now.

“I’m not upset that you lied to me, I’m upset that from now on I can’t believe you.”

Damn it.

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By Mama Paloma, 27/05/2010 07:25

Damn. I thought I had sorted all of this stuff out, at least the part that was about me and my feelings. I thought I was in a place to focus on AJ and his needs and am really irritated, in a way, that this whole thing is consuming so much of my energy. But it is.

Part of it is the way what has been going on evokes that very difficult time when my life was turned upside down, first by an unplanned pregnancy, then by the dishonesty and rejection of AJ’s dad. Much as I adore my son, the timing and the situation were devastating–personally, professionally, and financially. Spiritually, I was offered a lifeline in the writing of Anne Lamott, in the love and support of some amazing friends and family, in having nothing else to do but practice gentleness, compassion, and getting through each day. I had moved past that, learned and grown from it, set it aside–didn’t even feel the feelings of it, really. Couldn’t. Had to get a job, find a place to live, grow a baby.

So, this process of re-engaging with AJ’s dad, allowing him in to know his son, naturally brought some stuff up. I could make sense of that. Get through it. Look for the opportunity. But having history repeat itself like this? I feel like I was shipwrecked in 2007, but managed to fashion a raft to float along on and even figured out how to steer it a bit. Then, this past week, my raft was destroyed, thoughtlessly, and I am again treading water in what feels like an endless ocean, waiting for the next wave to crash over my head, afraid I might slip and let AJ’s head go under.

And it sucks.

Reminds me of the Nine Inch Nails song Down in It. The part that goes

I used to be so big and strong.
I used to know my right from wrong.
I used to never be afraid.
I used to be somebody.
I used to have something inside.
Now just this hole that’s open wide.
Used to want it all.
I used to be somebody.

I have always been confident, clear in my ethics and values, certain that if I upheld them, I would be all right. Now, I am not so sure. From down where I am, in the troughs between the swells, I can’t even see the horizon. I hope it’s still there.

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By Mama Paloma, 23/05/2010 23:00

This week has been a time of adjustment, of integrating the experience of having AJ’s dad here into my world view, re-structuring my assumptions, opening to more possibility and complexity.

And then it got real.

Friday morning, I opened my email box and saw a message from Adam. He is meant to be out on assignment for some weeks, so communication will happen when it can. I smiled, thinking he would have perhaps looked at the link to a video message from AJ that I had sent him the day before.

My heart sank. For her, for me, for AJ. This was the same ‘ex-fiancee’ who turned out not to be so much an “ex” back in 2007, a fact I discovered when I was already four months pregnant.

I can see him carrying on the lie with her. If he loves her and doesn’t want to lose her, he may not have been able to come clean about the adorable two-year-old clone in America that he was only now getting to know. Still, I just don’t understand his lying to me about this now. When he first contacted me to see what might be possible in terms of a relationship with Addison, I actually assumed that they were still together and commented as much. He said, no, that they had split up after things came out about our relationship in 2007. We have had a few conversations about this. We have had more conversations about my misgivings about him and his trustworthiness and the importance of having an honest and respectful relationship if I am going to facilitate his access to Addison. He seemed totally on board with that, open and honest, answering my questions with ease.

Theories abound as to his motivations, what is really going on with her, what I should do. As far as I am concerned, that all remains to be seen, or not, and will evolve with time and more information.

More potent for me is the challenge this brings to my practices around love, good intention, and faith in possibility. I have, for the past three years, acted in good faith (with sometimes protracted moments of existential tantruming mixed in for sure), been honest and forthright, and stood against the forces that would have had me act out of anger and fear to cut Adam off from AJ forever. I have prayed with my son every night since he was an infant for his father’s safety and happiness, honestly upheld his well-being in my heart with compassion and hope.

When he indicated he was ready, I opened my mind, our lives, to him. I gave him the opportunity to step up, to treat me with respect, to build a connection with Addison. It seemed like he was doing just that.

I was deceived. Again.

Over the past couple of days, I have gone through self-recrimination (I should have seen this coming, should have asked more questions, should have…), rationalization (maybe there is an explanation that will make this all make sense), anger, and sadness.

Past all that, though, I have found an emptiness, a lack of anything meaningful to make of it all. A loss of belief in and hope for decency and goodness.

Don’t get me wrong. I know there is decency and goodness aplenty in the world. Right now, though, my personal connection to these things seems pretty frail. I want to rage, to indict, to seek and find THE TRUTH so that it can be very, very clear how wrong he has been and how in the right I am.

So, I believe that the real test in this may be the degree to which I allow acts of betrayal and cynicism to draw me over to the dark side where I can hide my hurt and shame in self-righteous indignation and harsh judgment. Certainly he deserves it, doesn’t he?

He may. I have a posse of people to back me up in that, too. But, my friends, this is just not the kind of person I want to be. More importantly, it is not the example I want to be for AJ. I still want my son “to learn that, no matter what another person does, he can choose what he brings to the table. I want him to know in his bones that he can be mad at someone, and protect himself, and be strong, and still choose to act out of compassion.”

It’s just really hard to hold on to that right now.

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By Mama Paloma, 17/05/2010 04:22

Just eleven days over three years since he was conceived on Africa’s west coast, my son AJ met his father. Adam lives in Australia and his job does not let him get away much at all, but does let him travel some so he was able to tack two days with us on to the end of some work here in the US.

I was happy that this had worked out and happy that it was only two days–what if it was awful?

I was also nervous.  What if he didn’t show up? What if he did and it was awful? Then there were the other emotions–the betrayal and hurt that I had to box up and set aside for the past two and a half years. So, I was alternately calm and rational–What’s the worst that can happen? Whatever does happen is good information. Better to know now if he’s going to be a jerk now than find out when AJ is older and more likely to be affected. Right?–and a wreck. Up until the day he arrived, I was half-sure he was going to bail. Just not show up. I shared these feelings with him and then was sure that I had just made sure he would go AWOL.

He didn’t. He showed up. He was attentive and comfortable with AJ and was kind and cooperative with me. In two days, we were able to sort out an unbelievable amount of ‘stuff,’ including establishing some legal parameters that I wanted in place and getting answers to my questions about what had happened to me back in 2007. AJ was over the moon and Adam was smitten with his son. Anyone seeing them would never have guessed that they had only just met. Anyone seeing us would never have guessed that we live on two continents and have been estranged since before our son was born.

It was really, really nice. Unexpectedly easy and sweet and wonderful.

A part of me wishes it would have been a bit harder. Would make the rest of the time easier. I don’t mean I wish it didn’t work, just that perhaps it didn’t work so well. You know, when you have guests and you like them and enjoy their company but it is (let’s be honest, here) a relief to see them go.

It was a short visit, but very intense. Still, we really get on well, were very comfortable with each other. We were able to talk honestly and be genuinely respectful.

It wasn’t that we were playing nice. I asked the hard questions and he faced the hard truths…of what he missed, of the hurt he caused…but it was with respect and compassion. It was weird. I should have been angry, he should have been defensive. Instead, we had a taste of what could have been…and were both affected by that. He didn’t want to leave and I didn’t want him to go. This was a completely, totally unexpected development.

For me, it is a bit scary because this opened up a whole new uncharted territory. I know how to be the single mom done wrong who is getting on with her life without the man. Now, it seems, I have a co-parent who is very cooperative but who also very much wants to be involved. And I like the involvement. And it is very limited, by distance and circumstance.

And, today, I am sad. I feel a bit like someone who was born without an arm. They are used to having one arm and don’t wish for another, even noticing at times how cumbersome having two arms could be. Then, they get to try on an amazing bionic prosthetic arm. But only for a day or two. For those two days, they have a different sense of balance, of ability, of taking up space in the world.

Then they have to let that arm go.

Don’t get me wrong, Adam is coming back. It’s all good. We’re working out a schedule for visits and communication.

It’s just that I have been so diligent, so intentional, about keeping space open for Adam in AJ’s life. I didn’t realize how letting him occupy that space might affect me.  I had no idea now that, once was here and gone,  that space would feel like a gaping hole.

This only hit me last night as we watched him go up the escalator to the security screening area. AJ, on my shoulders, craning for a last glimpse of his daddy, sensed my quiet tears and asked, “Mommy, you sad?” ”Yes, sweetie, I’m sad,” I replied. ”Don’t cry mommy,” he said, “Daddy be back soon.”

Yes, my son, you will see your daddy as soon as we can manage it. And we will somehow manage the rest.

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By Mama Paloma, 02/05/2010 20:35

A re-post from two years ago…which will put the next post in context.

Friday, May 16, 2008

The Black Sheep as Shepherd—and a bit more on forgiveness

I think joy and sweetness and affection are a spiritual path. We’re here to know God, to love and serve God, and to be blown away by the beauty and miracle of nature. You just have to get rid of so much baggage to be light enough to dance, to sing, to play. You don’t have time to carry grudges; you don’t have time to cling to the need to be right.

-author Anne Lamott, in a recent interview. (Source: The Washington Times)

So, I say prayers with my three-month-old son. We have this bedtime ritual that starts with a bath (or at least a wipe down), clean diaper, pajamas, a special song (“My Darling Child” by Sinead O’Connor), prayers, and the day’s poem from the aptly named “A Poem A Day.” Most people who know me would think this was all fairly in keeping with my style. That is, until they get to the prayer part.

I was raised in an evangelical Christian family. So evangelical, in fact, that my parents carted my sister and I off to the mission field when I was fourteen. I dutifully swallowed every lumpy bit of their contradictory religion until university, when I began to question. A lot. What I have come to at this point of a long journey is a spirituality that is not grounded in a religious affiliation. I would call myself a Christian. Most Christians would not. Why? Because I don’t believe that the Bible is literally true. I do not believe that anyone who does not accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior is going to hell. I don’t believe that God created the universe in seven of our days. I am not even sure that Jesus was a real person. What I do believe is that the Christ that is described in Christian scripture, more than any other person I have read or heard of, articulated what I see as the essence of spirituality–maintaining humility, standing against injustice, not discriminating against the poor or socially unacceptable, acting in a loving way toward even those who treat you badly.

Oh, and I also believe that God is a woman. Or at least as much a woman as man. And I believe that the correct answer to the question of “Is God a woman or a man?” is “Who cares?”

I digress a bit but only to establish that I am, in my family, a black sheep. I say “a” black sheep because they are several of us. I think, on the surface at least, my parents would probably say I am more of a grey sheep or spotty or something. But, certainly, I am no spiritual leader. I don’t yearn for a religious community–I am happy to sleep all morning on Sunday. When I am desperate, I don’t cry out to God and doing so (I have tried it, thinking it’s what I should do) brings no relief.

And now I am a mother and, oddly enough, I feel this desire, a responsibility even, to incorporate prayers into our bedtime ritual.

How does that work, you ask? Well, it’s a bit odd because I feel uncomfortable with the traditional “Dear God” or, worse, “Our Heavenly Father” approach. The first gives me images of God opening her email to find it filled with spam. The second, well, I would refer you to the fourth paragraph of this ramble.