D-I-V-O-R-C-E

That was the name of the 1967 song by Tammy Wynette. In the song, the little boy is four. Our little Max is four today, five tomorrow. His parents’ divorce papers just arrived. Our son is quite cheerful about it, pleased to see the words “dissolution”. He seems to think his marriage is over, that he won’t have to deal with his wife anymore, that he is somehow free.

I wonder. Does it ever really end? He is bound to her forever through their little boy. Even after Max turns 18, that doesn’t mean things will change substantially. Your kids are your kids no matter how old they are. We are always doing things for them, helping them out, watching out for them, worrying about them, and our kids are 35,33 and 29.

Surprisingly, our son let us read the settlement papers. Usually he is not that forthcoming about his private business, which is fine. The packet ran about 25 pages, half of it dealing with Max and how the custody arrangement would work, with alternate weekends, Mothers Day, Fathers Day, Christmas, Christmas Eve, visitation, schoolwork, transportation, emergencies, and on and on. Funny how an intact family just rolls with this stuff, working out arrangements to keep everyone happy. Not that everyone is really happy all the time with the way things go, but we are reasonably mollified with whatever set up we agree to follow.

Now it’s codified. Pick him at a certain time, drop him off at a specific time. All that stuff. The papers also say that neither parent may disparage the other in hearing of the child. I wonder if that is really something you can order people to do. Even two parent families have adults who tear each other up in front of the kids. This is one thing I worry about: how Max’s parents will handle all this over the coming years. While I am not a big fan, even Dr. Phil points out that if you try to use the child to gain leverage over the other parent, the kid will wind up hating both of you.

Max has had over a year of alternate weekends, so it won’t be an entirely new concept to him. He looked forward to “sleepovers” at our house. Now he will be at his father’s apartment, wherever that turns out to be.

That’s another thing I worry about, selfishly—how often will we see our grandson now? That’s likely to change.

Fortunately, this is all happening right in our own town and not hundreds of miles away.
Unfortunately, this is all happening in our own town and not hundreds of miles away..

Fortunately, we know what’s going on.
Unfortunately, well, you get the picture.

Is there an end? Do things work out OK for our little, cute, trusting, huggable Max? Will he be sad, bitter, angry, confused, hurt, or happy, well adjusted, loving, and well integrated?
I haven’t forgotten our own son in all this, but right now I worry about little guy. Tomorrow is his fifth birthday. Both his mother’s family and ours will be there, on neutral ground.

So here we go, into a whole different world than we ever conceived of. Say a prayer for us?