Below is an excerpt from this most touching and interesting story that brought me so close to tears.
We were not the loud type, your mum and I, so hardly anyone knew that I first left her two months before you turned two. We made up and I returned home but it didn’t get any better after that. I left again three months after your sixth birthday; and returned yet again. I could never really figure out why we kept working so hard to stay together. Sometimes I thought it was because of our parents and our determination to prove them wrong, other times I thought we were just too lazy to go through the demands of a broken up marriage, the rest of the time I felt it was fear, fear of re-entering the singles terrain which we’d signed off from amidst fanfare.
Whichever reason it was, it did a fine job of bringing us back together each time. Until the last time – or more rightly, what should have been the last time – I left home. I was tired of it all, the pretending, the awkwardness, having to always wear poker-faces, all of it. So I decided to end it one last time."
Click here to get the rest of the story. With nothing else left between your mother and me, you had become the center of both our worlds. You had just turned nine so I felt that you were old enough to understand when we separated; we would remain parts of your life but we wouldn’t have to stay together anymore to do that. I was convinced we could make it work when I kissed your sleeping face in the wee hours of the morning, ten minutes before I threw my bags in the car and left.