An Accidental Mother (15 page)

Now that Michael knows the relationship between me and his father is coming to an end, I am doing everything I possibly can to keep our lives seemingly normal. I want him to see that Jim and I can get along and that taking care of Michael will remain (as much as it can) a shared responsibility. I want him to know I am committed to preserving as many routines as I possibly can. More than anything, I want him to know and feel that he is loved.

This morning we are getting ready for school, about to head out to the bus stop. I turn to Michael and say,
“Honey, you do know that the issues between me and your dad have nothing to do with you? And do you know that we both love you very much?”

Michael smiles and nods. He has a look that says, “Don't worry; I've got it all figured out.” But he is still only nine years old, and I can't believe that he does.

I put my arm around him, and we walk out the front door, down the sidewalk, and out into the street, heading toward the bus stop.

“Michael, do you know what the best thing to ever happen to me was—in my whole entire life?”

He looks into my eyes, saying nothing, and waits for me to answer.

“Being your mom.”

Michael smiles. “I know.”

How can you teach a child not to lie when you are a liar? I cannot ask Michael's father that question, but it is one I wish he would answer.

During the course of our breakup, Jim told me in person and in writing that he would never keep Michael from me. In the moments of trying to comfort Michael as his world began to change around him, I promised that I would always be there for him. Now his father is failing to keep his word and making every meeting a challenge.

Our breakup occurred in March, but for Michael's
sake we agreed they should continue to live with me through the end of the school year. After witnessing the never-ending conflict between Jim and Elizabeth's mother, I wanted to prove to Jim that a breakup could be managed kindly and cordially. Jim made an offer on a house with a closing date in mid-June and spent the last two months of our cohabitation asking me for help of every kind. I obliged nearly every time, desperate to remain on good terms. I convinced myself that whatever help I offered Jim would benefit Michael.

Sadly, I came home after a weekend away with a girlfriend to find that Jim had moved them out of the house ten days early without telling me he was going to do so. My last week with Michael had come and gone, and I hadn't even been aware of it.

To add to the insult, the house looked as if a robbery had taken place; there were stacks of boxes and belongings scattered about in nearly every room. Jim told me on the phone that most of what remained needed to be thrown out or taken to Goodwill. I quickly realized he had no intention of doing it himself.
Along with room after room of things left behind that I now had to dispose of, Jim had also left George and Jasmine.

I was exasperated. “They are the children's pets!”

“Well, I don't have any room for them,” he told me.

I was upset that he had moved out without notice, angry that he had left so much behind for me to clean up, and frustrated that I would now be responsible for the care and feeding of two young rats. I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell, I wanted to dump everything in the front yard of his new house.

But I had to focus my attention on the only thing that really mattered: time with Michael.

Shortly after they moved out, Jim allowed me a long weekend with Michael while he went back East for a high school reunion. Michael and I went shopping for books and went to the movies. He played his Gameboy while I did laundry. We watched movies at home and made hot dogs. Other than the absence
of his father, in all aspects it felt like a normal weekend. I was thankful that I got to spend these days with Michael and hopeful that it would be the first of many weekends together.

When Jim returned from his reunion he took Michael and Elizabeth camping for seven days. The trip had been planned for months, originally as a family vacation, but now I was home alone, feeling lost. I called Jim to ask if I could say hello to the children. He did not answer his phone. I left messages two days in a row. He did not return my call until the third day. I told the children I was happy they were having fun camping. Then I hung up the phone and cried.

When they returned from their vacation, I asked if I could have Michael for the weekend, and Jim told me I could not; they had plans to go out of town. I asked if I could instead have a dinner during the week. He told me Michael's grandmother was watching him during his workdays until school started; if I wanted to see him I must go to the other side of town and pick
him up at Grandma's house. I made the long drive to get Michael, and we went out for pizza and ice cream, then went to Target to shop for school supplies. Among other things, we picked out a backpack. It had wheels like a suitcase, and Michael rolled it around the store with a smile on his face. I tried to be cheerful, tried to act happy, but it all felt so artificial, so forced. I dropped Michael off at his grandmother's house and drove away in tears.

The next time I saw Michael, after his trip out of town and again just for a dinner, he told me his daddy didn't want him to have a backpack with wheels and had bought a different one for him. I was frustrated, but I told Michael it was okay, he could use the backpack with wheels for traveling instead of for school. Michael also told me a little about his trip, and although I wanted to ask questions, I did not. I had already figured out most of it.

I was fairly certain that during Jim's high school reunion, he had reunited with a former girlfriend, a
woman with whom he had recently reconnected with on Facebook (while lying in bed next to me with his laptop computer and telling me she was just an old friend from high school). She lived in Las Vegas, and Jim traveled to see her every other weekend—with Michael in tow. I wondered how he could sleep in the same bed with this woman so quickly after leaving me and not worry what Michael would think. I wondered why he didn't let me care for Michael during those weekends until he had determined the seriousness of the relationship. But I had no right to question his behavior.

Over the course of three weeks I got only one week-night dinner with Michael. Michael revealed that Jim had told him he would have to leave for work before Michael needed to leave for school, so Michael would have to pack his own lunch and go to the bus stop alone. In the afternoons he would be required to get off the bus by himself and go home to an empty house to do his homework. I drove home that night sobbing.
I had offered to pay for Michael's before-and after-school care, I had offered to pay for Michael to eat lunch in the cafeteria. Jim told me neither thing was necessary. I didn't know Michael would have to pack his own lunches; I didn't know he would be relegated to latchkey child. I wondered why Jim didn't worry that a nine-year-old boy could be kidnapped on his way to the bus stop, or that something could happen to him at home while he was alone for hours at a time.

I sent Michael a funny greeting card by mail, telling him that I loved him and missed him. I told him on the phone that when I saw him next we would go to a new movie that had just come out. Days later I got an e-mail from Jim telling me not to tell Michael that I missed him because it was confusing for him. He said I should not promise Michael I would take him to a movie because Jim had told Michael he would take him. He revealed that he did not give Michael my greeting card because I didn't send one for Elizabeth.

I wanted to reply, “Of course it is confusing for
Michael!” I wanted to say, “You've never taken him to the movies!” I wanted to scream, “But Elizabeth has a mother. Michael does not!” Instead I said nothing, fearing any perceived infraction against Jim would result in missed time with Michael.

After all, I am not his birth mother; I am not his real mother. No matter how many snotty noses I cleaned, no matter how many scraped knees I bandaged, no matter how many times I held the bucket while he vomited—or did the million other things that mothers do—I have no rights.

As much as I struggled to see Michael, I also had to try to comprehend who this man was who stood in our way. He was someone I did not know, completely unlike the man with whom I had fallen in love. The man I loved bought romantic greeting cards for me and took his children shopping for Mother's Day gifts for me every year. The man I loved believed
that the interests of the children should come first and told me I would always be in Michael's life.

I sorted through a box of mementos and found scores of notes and cards from Jim:

“Thanks for everything you've done for
Michael and Elizabeth.”

“Thanks for taking care of Michael yesterday
when he was sick.”

“I appreciate the understanding and care you
give to Michael and Elizabeth.”

“It's so nice to know you've accepted Michael
and Elizabeth (and obviously vice versa) and you
treat them like your own.”

“Thanks for being such a great mother to
Michael and Elizabeth.”

“Michael and I were getting dressed and we were
talking about how wonderful you are to us.”

I know that relationships change, and romantic love can fade. But how is it that all of my mothering, all of the efforts I made to be a good parent, all of the love I bestowed upon these two children now seems to have no value?

I read them over and over again, letters from a man who put into words his appreciation that I shared the responsibilities of raising his children, acknowledging that I loved them as my own and how much they loved me in return.

And I loved the man who wrote me these notes.

This new man was someone I did not recognize.

Another weekend came and went while Jim and Michael were in Las Vegas. The next time I saw Michael, he volunteered information about the new girlfriend's children. She had two boys who were ten
and fourteen. Jim and the girlfriend had taken all three boys to the movies.

“That sounds like a good time,” I told him. “I'm glad you're going on fun trips with your dad.”

I didn't care that Jim had found another woman. But if she already had two boys of her own, how would she treat Michael? Would she be kind to him, or would he always be subjected to third place? I hoped and prayed that she was generous and loving.

By mid-August I was depressed and desperate for an escape. I planned a vacation to the beach with a girlfriend. Knowing I would be gone for nine days, I sent Jim an e-mail to ask if I could see Michael before I left. He told me I had to have him home by 8:30—school had started, and Michael had to go to bed early.

Michael and I went to Red Lobster, one of his favorite restaurants, for dinner. I tried to show an interest in his activities without appearing too nosy. I asked if he had made any new friends at school, and he told
me yes, a little boy who wore glasses just like Michael and had also read all the Harry Potter books. As I inquired about Michael's new life, I had no way of knowing it would be the last time I would see him. But perhaps some part of my subconscious mind suspected it.

“Michael, do you know how much I love you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that I wish I could see you all the time?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that I think of you every minute of every day?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes I ask to see you, and I can't because you and your daddy have plans. But I want you to know that I am always asking to see you, even if I'm not seeing you.”

“I know.”

“And sometimes I call you, but you and Daddy are busy, or on a trip, and I just have to leave a message.
But I want you to know that I always want to talk to you.”

“I know.”

“And you know that I will love you forever?”

“Yes. I know.”

We left the restaurant and drove to Target. We picked out some books for Michael and Elizabeth, and Michael asked if he could sit down in the bottom of the shopping cart. He was nine, far too old to sit in a shopping cart. But on this night I would deny him nothing. He climbed into the back of the cart and nestled down among everything else, opened up one of his new books, and began to read. I pushed him around the store, pretending to shop.

“I love you, Michael,” I said to him.

“I love you, too,” he replied.

The Friday before my vacation I called and left a message for Jim, asking if I could speak to both Michael and Elizabeth before I went out of town. Jim
did not return the call. I tried again in the morning before I left the house, but he did not answer. During my trip I left another message on Sunday and yet another on Monday. Wednesday evening my girlfriend and I came out of a loud restaurant and I found that I had missed a call from Michael. His message told me that he missed me and loved me. I called back but got no answer. I spent the entire evening and the following day of my vacation in tears.