I don’t like to advertise it, so I usually don’t talk about it, but with truthfulness, I’m a single-parent. I didn’t choose this lifestyle; it chose me. It’s my fate and I have to live it, fully.
When I dreamed of becoming a parent, I never dreamed I’d be parenting on my own. My castle-in-the-sky always had a King to partner with me in raising my young prince and princess. I think many of us had this same dream of “partnership,” which today, is far from that Elysian-like dream.
We can choose to be bitter about it or we can move onward, seeing our situations as blessings—as they are intended to be. (And that’s not easy, I know!)
Moving to the fore is the reason I don’t discuss my solo-parent life. It brings a slew of questions, which I’d rather not answer because I don’t want to cast a negative portrait of my children’s father, and I don’t like pity. For some reason, I feel weak when I see sympathy for my situation in other people’s eyes, and I just want to keep strong—moving forward. And I’m far from single—alone.
In 2003, I introduced my children to New York for the first time. Like most tourists, we traveled down to the Wall Street area. There we saw Trinity Church; it was regal and strong, like a castle, to us. We walked in, sat in a pew, and as my children looked at the icons and stained-glass, I said to them, “We are like this church. We are a Trinity.”
And eight years later, we still refer to ourselves as a Trinity. We are not alone. We are three.