Separate Homes for the Holidays

For many individuals who were married in the 1960's, divorce became an all-too common occurrence by the 1980's.  Women's liberation, men who set their sights on unlimited earnings or men who failed to earn enough to support their families, all contributed to this trend.  Add to this the increased emphasis on sex and the near-glorification of promiscuity that led to some people feeling like failures if they hadn't had more than one sexual partner, and the stress on marriages brought many to the breaking point.

What broke, though it was hard to see at the time, were the hearts of the children whose parents became embroiled in these situations.  Some of the wounds have been repaired through counseling or the insight and understanding that comes with adulthood.  But many families will never be the same.  Ours is certainly one example.

I, as a parent and grandparent, have had the events of the 1970's and 1980's, come home to roost in 2008. 

When my divorce became final in 1984, I had four sons.  The eldest had already largely separated from the family and gone to live in various places from the age of 14 on.  For the other three, I did what I could to keep them together, but the jealousies that developed between my third and fourth son (who were six years apart), eventually led to son number three going to live with his father.  

My second son and youngest remained at home and built a close bond that has survived, though now somewhat weakened by marriage and geographical distance.  Divorce necessitated my working full-time, so my youngest lost not only the companionship of his father but the wonderful times that a non-working mother can share with her children every single day.

So today is the day after Christmas and I ponder these events and the differences between families who stayed together and those who came apart.  It is obvious that each of my sons is working very hard to build his own traditions and his own lifestyle.  

I am waiting and hoping for a phone call from my son who is here in Tucson, visiting his father's home with his wife and three children.  

As for my other boys, one is in three feet of snow with his wife and three dogs high up in the Colorado mountains; the other is in Los Angeles with his wife and three dogs and the fourth has decided never to talk to me again, but he too is somewhere in Los Angeles. 

 It has been many, many years since we all were together for the holidays.  I remember those days of little boys in pajamas with feet, each trying to decide which gift to open from their pile of eight packages for Chanukah (one for each day) and my parents and extended family coming to eat the traditional potato latkes and brisket.

I had hoped to relive such memories with my grandchildren, but for some families, even the superglue of a mother's love and regret can't put us back together again.