Don’t second-guess yourself when visitation is done. You showed up for and spent time with your kid, and that’s enough.
My son isn’t even gone yet. He’s down the hall in the spare bedroom we use as a library, sprawled out on, as he calls it, a comfy couch, with his Nintendo Switch 2 (yes, he saved the $200 for it. Go Joey!).
Yet, here they come anyway, unavoidable as always:
The But Did I Do’s.
The ButDidIDos start as I’m packing my son up to return to his father’s for my fearless co-parent’s half of the Christmas holiday. Our train leaves Boston at the crack of dawn tomorrow. I picked JR up on the previous Monday. He’s been with me a whole 10 days.
I’ve done everything I can to maximize that time. I took off work. Cancelled my reservation at the company Christmas party. Left early the day I did have to work (starving freelance writer and special education advocate in training after all).
We had a long drive from Bergen County, NJ to Boston, MA to talk and listen to music. We played Christmas carols on the radio.
At JR’s request, this was a chill-out vacation. We didn’t do any of the usual things we do: no museums, no bowling, no amusement parks, no hiking, no New England sightseeing. Instead, we decorated the Christmas tree and baked cookies together. We hung out together, built Legos, and watched our favorite movies and TV shows.
The ButDidIDo’s creep around the edges of my mind as I fold jeans, t-shirts, and underwear, consolidating 2 chaotic, overpacked suitcases into a single neat one.
I swat them away impatiently and set to work making room for that single suitcase in front of the bedroom closet, stacking video game sleeves, hanging shirts, and tucking away clothing JR no longer fits into.
Still, they persist:
- But did I leave him alone too much?
- But did I pay enough attention to him?
- But should I have made him play a board game or go bowling?
- But should I have gotten him out of the house more often?
- But should I not have gone to work for four hours that Saturday?
- But did I –?
- But should I have–?
- But do I still have time to–?
But Did I Do Enough with/for Kiddo on this visit?
You’d think I’d have learned to tune out the ButDidIDo’s by now. This August marked my 20th anniversary as a non-custodial parent and my divorce from JR’s dad, my fearless co-parent. As Rosanne Cash once sang, sad anniversary of a 100 old things…
20 years of every other weekend, every other holiday, week-long vacations, long weekends, early Christmases (I celebrate Christmas with JR the week before Christmas Eve), longer school breaks when I moved to Boston…
…nope, at the end of every visit, the ButDidIDo’s pay me a visit. They nag at my self-assurance. They highlight whatever mistakes I think I’ve made (The time 19 years ago my son got sunburned on a beach trip lives on in infamy in my self-doubting subconscious).
I know the ButDidIDo’s are being ridiculous. I know I did all I could to make this a great vacay. I treasured every moment with my son. I spent as much time with him as he would let me. I respected his desire to be alone in his room when he asked. I even heard Leading Man #1 on the phone with his father telling him what a good time he was having once or twice.
C’mon, Cris. Have some self-confidence for frick’s sake!
I finish cleaning JR’s bedroom floor. I close the closet door and set the suitcase in its place in front of the doors. Next, I whip out my mighty self-confidence nerf sword, prepared to do battle with the ButDidIDo’s. I will vanquish them for good this time!
But first, I’ll check on Leading Man #1 in the library.
I pad down the hallway and look in the doorway. “Hey kiddo! How’s it–” I stop as I see my son, all lanky 6 feet of him, curled up asleep on the couch. Our dog, Ella, sleeps at his feet.
I should be over this too. Just before I return JR to his father, I feel one part of my heart start to tear away. It happens with the slow sound of Velcro halves being separated.
I know I’ll never get over it. I’ll never vanquish the ButDidIDos. I’ll never get over the feeling of loss I get when I have to return JR to his father.
It’s enough that JR is ready to go home to his Dad’s. It’s enough that he had a great time. My feelings don’t matter. His do.
That’s how it’s gotta be.
I tiptoe to my bedroom. I grab my book off the nightstand. Then, I settle into the recliner across from JR in the library. Ella looks at me and yawns. Rocky, our boxer, comes in. He looks at Ella on the couch. He considers jumping up to join her. He wisely decides not to rile his sister. Instead, he settles at my feet.
One more moment to make the absolute most of with my kid.
Plus a whole train ride tomorrow! Woohoo!
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