When my alarm went off at 5:45 this morning, it woke both of us.

I went into Niall’s room and told him it was time to go to school.

“I don’t want to go to school!” he cried.  “I want to stay with you!  This is where I live!”

I got him dressed, fed him, and took him to school.  Upon arrival, we went and put his bags in his cubbyhole.  I asked him for a big hug to hold me over until Saturday, as I wouldn’t see him before then.  He gave me a long, strong hug, then stood straight with his hands behind his back, his eyes filled with tears.

“Do you want to go see your teacher?” I asked.

He shook a little.  “No.  I just want to stand here for a little bit.”

I’ll write more, in spurts, as I develop the will — but the worst part about this, so far, is having to pretend, for Jenn’s sake, that her leaving is a joint decision and for the best.  It is not a joint decision.  I did not want my son kidnapped away from me, and my table scraps of visitations to be at the discretion of Jennifer, as if this were her right alone to decree.

I wonder right now if I am making the biggest mistake of my life not fighting harder, and letting this happen.  I wonder what I’m supposed to do.  I don’t want to make this any uglier, but Niall is way too perceptive not to be deeply hurt by everything that’s going on, and he’s my son.  In fifteen years, will he hate me for not taking a stronger stand on this, or will he understand that I did the best I thought I could at the time, trying not to sabotage Jennifer while trying to love my son?  I don’t know.  God.  I don’t know.

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 11:12:09 +0000
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