Comments (0)

By Mama Paloma, 29/04/2012 12:06

Last night, a friend who I met almost five years ago through our local MOMS club had her birthday at Akbar, a local and unpretentious gay bar/club where the 7 foot (with platforms) DJ in neon pink was spinning 90s techno to her hearts content. The  music was fairly awful, the beats irresistible, and the vodka effective.

We danced until well after midnight, and I had a great time.

Almost all of her guests are also parents, friends found through their preschool and others who work in ‘the industry.’ Almost everyone else at the club was gay.

And then there was me. Not gay, not coupled, not a writer/producer/actor. Not the same.

This happens all the time. I end up being the single parent in the group of coupled friends. Most of the time this is fine. Sometimes, the wives in these groups get weird and territorial when their husbands talk to me.  Occasionally, people have been unintentionally mean (like when one of the MOMS members made a comment about not choosing a charity that serves teen moms because, “…most of them are single and the MOMS Club is here to support families…“).  Here in liberal Hollywood, I am a  wild card, a threat to the order of things.

Even in the single parent scene, I’m a bit of an oddity. In my experience (which I admit is pretty limited) ‘single parent’ groups are mostly divorced people, dealing with the issues of coordinating with an ex (I wish my son’s dad would coordinate more but, given that he lives on another continent, every other weekend and shared school responsibilities are not a part of my reality) and wanting to smush their broken family with someone else’s (twice the dysfunction = twice the fun!). Now, I would like to date more, have more grown-up fun, and be open to connecting with someone and seeing where that goes but I feel no urgency to cobble together a family. AJ and I are a family, with a rich network of extended relations and friends and love.

I attended a group called Single Mothers By Choice for a bit and even had the honor of helping a friend get started on the whole sperm donor choosing process. Wow. Who knew?  But, ultimately, I didn’t relate there, either – I didn’t ‘choose’ this situation, really. I mean, I did make a choice to have my son…but these ladies are choosing to go to all kinds of lengths to be moms. I kind of fell into this world by accident, unprepared, and don’t know much about hormones and insemination and IVF.

So, in many situations, I find myself an outsider – observed observer in worlds I half inhabit. Still, I am not really interested in socializing with people based on their partnered/parental status. My friends are amazing, talented, wonderful people…and I want to spend time with them.

On the other hand, I am not likely to meet someone for me while dancing the night away at a gay bar with a bunch of couples. Just sayin’.

Comments (3)

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.

Comments (1)

By Mama Paloma, 10/03/2010 05:22

Tonight was AJ’s third call with his dad. Gotta give it to the guy, he does seem to be following through at least on the phone contact. The time difference makes it hard. Adam has to cut out for his lunch to catch us at dinner time. He’s somewhere outside of his work, AJ is tired and cranky. So far, Skype or similar has not been an option.

But AJ loves this. He chats away about whatever is interesting to him. Last time, on the weekend, he just played for a bit. As though his dad was just sitting there watching him. It’s odd how much he gets and what he doesn’t. He still tries to ‘show’ his dad stuff through the phone.

And today he asked his dad to come visit. Specifically, he said ‘daddy come home?’ He kept repeating it until both Adam and I understood. Adam was tongue-tied. Understandably. I don’t think he expected this. I didn’t. Not yet. After missing a few beats, he said ‘I can’t come, buddy, I’m in Australia.’ I followed up and asked Addison if he remembered when we went to see Aunty Naomi on the airplane. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘You remember how we had to sleep on the plane and it took such a long time?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well that’s where your daddy is. He can’t just come here. It’s really, really far.’ AJ considered this for a moment before responding. ‘Daddy come helicopter,’ he said.’You think your daddy should come in a helicopter?’ I asked. ‘Yeah,’ he replied, ‘daddy come helicopter or plane.’

He had it all figured out.

When the time came to say goodbye, he cried. He was sad and angry with us for not figuring out what was so obvious to him. His daddy should ‘come home NOW!’ It was really hard.

It was also, in some way, good. Not that I want him to suffer. Really, I can’t let myself think ahead to what suffering there could be in the future. But I do believe that suffering that is about connection and belonging, about knowing and caring for others is far preferable, far more livable than the suffering that comes from the absence of those things. Who knows what lies ahead but, for now, my son has a connection with his daddy, a sense that his is there for him (even if not playing in his playroom), a place in this his weird, messed-up family where he is loved and safe and can say what he wants and cry his little heart out if he needs to.

Comments (0)

By Mama Paloma, 24/03/2009 04:44

It is not that anything significant came of this call. It is a mere step in a long journey to secure my son’s legal status. It merely led, as expected, to more waiting.

Recently, I talked with a friend who has been finally getting to some of the account changes with the phone company, the bank, and so on necessitated by her husband’s death. Having come through the initial pain and loss with grace and strength, she now finds these simple tasks exhausting and acutely emotional.

Another friend, having survived the trauma of separation is now taking practical steps toward a divorce and is finding this all-consuming. I remember this phase well. I also remember how shocked I was to be the deep and painful emotions evoked by putting our lives on paper and signing my already established new identity as a single person into being.

As I reflect on tonight’s Herculean effort, vodka in hand, I wonder how it is that these things are so difficult. In each case, the person concerned has already passed through what seems to be the worst, the fear and shock and sorrow. These steps are just formalizing what already is, even what has come to be preferred. How is it that they can feel (as I described the legal process of my own long-ago divorce) as if one is sawing one’s own arm off with a nail file?

I think this pain of completion is not as much about what is as what is not. Calling Australia is not hard. It is hard that I have to do it. This is not what I expected to be doing when I had a small child. The widow did not expect, at the age of 30, to be erasing her husband’s commercial existence. The divorcee did not expect to be picking through the knotted strands of years together, divvying up proceeds and plans.

You know it is over, that the die is cast, that you have to move on. Like someone looking at the burned out hull of a house for the last time, you may not want to go back. What was there is gone. But in some way it doesn’t matter if you do not want to live there any more. Sorting through the details, through the rubble of your hopes and dreams and expectations, is sometimes the hardest part of all.