A good friend, an 80-year-old widow, has several times shared recommended books with me. I usually prefer non-fiction, but when she recommended a fiction book, I felt somewhat obligated to read it. It took a bit of effort to get into, but as I relaxed my brain and soul I found it comforting and a wonderful read. And as I read, my thoughts turned to my oldest daughter because she is much like the main character, thoughtful, artistic, and sensitive to the good things of life.
As I neared the end of the book, I felt impressed to buy the book for my daughter. I realized that it was a few weeks before her “half-birthday” on Oct. 24. So I ordered a near-new copy from Amazon, and got it a week before. But with many overtime hours and my procrastination, I didn’t get it off until last week. She received it today. She texted me. She loved getting a surprise in the mail, and I was reminded of the Carpenters’ song—I’ve been playing in the car a golden-hits CD of Carpenter songs, and one of them is “Please Mr. Postman.” I have also prayed that she may except my gift as a token of my love for her, as I’ve sensed that she and I have not been on the best of terms since the divorce, not bad, but just not as good as it could be.
She texted me while I was at work. As I drove home “distance makes the heart grow fonder” came to my mind. I saw her for a few minutes this past July, and before that it was much longer since I’d seen her. She is always in my prayers and fasts. My thoughts then moved to my other children and I realized that even for those I see at least once a week, that distance and separation makes my heart hunger for them, and I sense them to hunger for me. My quick search of the web indicates there is some truth found in the phrase.
I’ve thought and told others often that in many regards I’m a better father now than I was when married. There is also truth to that, likely for the same reason about distance—when my children aren’t with me on my solo nights, I’m thinking of them, and when they come to visit my focus is entirely on them. Time is precious. Our interactions are real and deep, and I plan for their visits. We do more in a weekend visit than I’d do in a month of living with them before divorce.
It’s a shame that divorce brings this kind of blessing, but at least I can testify to my married friends the importance of their time with their children.
Carl
(PS The book I sent to my daughter is Remembering Isaac Ben Behunin.)