The same father who was going through his second divorce not too long ago.
The same father who so believed in the sanctity of marriage, only to be left by his first wife after 12 years and 2 kids because she determined she was tired of living the lie. A lie he never before then knew she had been living. But suddenly, the truth was out.
Unbeknownst to him, he had married a lesbian.
The same father who then bravely decided to try again, entering into his second marriage just a few short years later.
To a woman who turned out to be cold, and manipulative, and yes… probably more than just a little bit crazy.
A woman who remained with him for 17 years, while trying to sabotage his relationship with me and anyone else he ever cared about. A woman who could not handle the idea of sharing him with anyone, but who it turns out didn’t exactly go out of her way to be any kinder to him than she was to anyone else. A woman who he remained with solely because he believed in the sanctity of marriage. Because he refused to be twice divorced.
A woman who then ceremoniously left him just days before they were set to embark upon a cruise meant to celebrate his birthday.
Yes, that father is again in love. Somehow jumping back into the saddle with a vengeance. Embracing all that love and life has to offer him.
Acknowledging that my stepmother probably gave him a gift, because he never would have left her himself.
And then, he never would have met the woman he is now with.
And I have to admit; she is pretty freaking incredible.
My father is a serial monogamist. A man who is at his best when he is within the confines of a relationship. He doesn’t want to be alone. He yearns for someone to care for, love and protect.
I am like my father in a million different ways, except for this one. I don’t love easily. I am slow to trust. And my heart is not free for the giving.
But my father? He picks up and moves on. Moves forward. Allows himself to trust again, even though one would assume that his past relationship disasters would in fact make such an act impossible for him.
When my stepmother left my dad, he was devastated. For so many reasons of course, but I think in many ways because he felt like he had wasted so many years with her. For the first time, he really acknowledged that he should have left her 9 years ago. The very moment when she packed my bags and banned a then 18 year old me from his home. But he stayed. Thinking that he had made vows, and that he had to find a way to make this work. He stayed, only to have her leave 9 years later.
And for that, I know he felt guilt. And remorse. And sadness.
I also know he feared that in wasting those 10 years, he had somehow given up any chance he had of finding love again. That he had somehow passed his prime, and was now doomed to a life of living alone.
A fate my monogamist father feared more than just about anything else.
He called me one weekend, distressed over the prospect of nothing to do and a house completely to himself.
I had to remind him that I, his 27 year old daughter, had spent plenty of her life living alone. That it wasn’t actually the horrible existence he was painting it out to be. That I even enjoyed it.
I’m pretty sure I told him to suck it up.
Then the dating began, and my father became a nervous wreck. Entering a world much different than the one he had left so many years ago. There were near daily phone calls at that point. Should he bring flowers on a first date? Should he text this new woman if she hadn’t yet called him back? Should he be concerned that she may be dating someone else?
I became my father’s dating advisor, and I have to tell you; there were some hysterical moments during those few months. Moments I itched to write about (because really – they were blogging gold), but which I refrained from. Mostly because after every phone call in which my father begged for advice like a terrified 15 year old, he would then proclaim “Do NOT blog about this!”
And so, I complied. Because I do love my father. And I would never want to embarrass him (at least not more than is totally called for!)
But there were moments there, in those dating days, when I begged my dear old dad to step back. I reminded him to date for the fun of dating. For the enjoyment of getting to know other people. I snapped at him during those times in which it became clear that he was instead dating to find his next wife. An endeavor I scoffed at. After all, 2 failures in, why would that possibly be his goal? Why would he ever do that to himself again? Why not just date to date?
Yes, I wanted my father to become a man whore. I figured that was preferable to his having his heart stomped on by any other woman he wanted only to spend the rest of his life caring for.
Alas, that is not how my father is built.
And it wasn’t long before a certain woman’s name began to pass his lips in our conversations more than any other. A woman he couldn’t believe was giving him the time of day. One who from the sounds of it, was smarter than him, classier than him, and based on the pictures he sent me…
Certainly better looking than him.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I love my father with all my heart. But… the man is a goofy looking creature.
What was this beautiful woman doing with him?
I was clearly skeptical at first. I am the first one to tell the world about my father’s incredible heart. His entire tenure with my stepmother, I lamented the fact that his goodness was being wasted on her. That his sense of humor and love of life was lost on a woman who was clearly lacking a heart of her own. My dad is the kind of guy who brings flowers home for no reason and would never dream of cheating. Loyalty and honesty are two incredibly important traits to him. He would never stray or betray. And he would do just about anything for the people he loves.
So don’t get me wrong when I say that I questioned this woman’s intentions with my father. I understand fully what a catch the man could be for the right woman. How lucky anyone who ends up with him would be.
But… She was beautiful. And it sounded as though she was independent, and kind, and warm to boot.
So, really… what was she doing with my dad?
When he announced to me that they were in fact in love (mere weeks into dating), I began to question even further.
What kind of people fall in love so quickly? I know I for sure am not built that way. Love does not come easily for me.
So, how could it possibly come so easily for the two of them? Surely there must have been a catch.
I convinced myself she must have made the mistaken assumption that he had money. And lots of it.
But then, I went home for Thanksgiving. And... I fell in love with her too.
While I did not write about my father’s new romance while I was there (it’s possible there may have been a few other things on my mind at the time), she was there. Every step of the way, she was there. Working to comfort me and be there for me in whatever way she could.
A warmth and kindness I had never felt from my stepmother. This woman swooped in and did all she could to make me comfortable around her. To ensure that I knew that as long as she was with my dad, I would always be welcomed and loved by her as well. She enveloped me in her warmth and went out of her way to make me feel taken care of and loved.
And I was left in shock by the entire thing. After the years of living with my stepmother (who made it clear daily how little she wanted me in her life) and then the decade of keeping my relationship with my father separate from his relationship with her; to suddenly be welcomed into his home and life by the new woman in his world? It was incredible. A woman who actually wanted to mother me, at a time when I may have needed a mother the most.
A woman who clearly loved my father with all her heart. Who loved every piece of him, even the children his last wife had wanted nothing to do with. A woman who was warm, and genuine, and loyal, and kind.
A woman my father had fallen quickly in love with. But who had also fallen quickly in love with him.
And suddenly, I saw it. I understood.
And I knew that my father’s ability to open his heart again (despite the times it had been walked on in the past) had earned him this.
The two of them are vacationing in San Diego this weekend. Soaking up the sun, and basking in their love for each other. I have no doubt that marriage is in their future (although, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I do hope they give that a bit more time, for each of their sakes). That I am probably one day soon going to have a stepmother who actually loves me and wants me around as much as my father does. One who wants to step into that role of mother figure for me. Who wants to embrace me as her own. And who wants to envelope my father with all the warmth and compassion that he in turn wants to give her as well.
My father is in love. Had I been him, I probably wouldn’t even be dating yet. I would have spent a good year or two lamenting the broken pieces of my past relationship. Swearing off men until I could be assured my heart had healed. And then, when I reentered the dating arena, I would have done so slowly. Cautiously. Devoid of much optimism at all.
Heck, even without that level of heartbreak in my wake, I still date with far more apprehension and care than my father has ever mustered in his quest to find to love.
Apprehension and care which may not be doing me as much good as I like to think it does.
What my dad has taught me about love is that sometimes, guarding your own heart with everything you’ve got isn’t the best path to take at all. Sometimes, letting go and embracing the life and opportunities that are handed to you is what it takes to find true love. True happiness.
And sometimes you have to be willing to love first, in order to receive love back.
My dad was vulnerable during his dating days. Wounded and exposed, but still open and willing. Still searching, seeking, and loving with his whole heart.
And I watched on with fear and apprehension, sure that this open heart of his was going to lead only to sadness and despair.
And maybe it will. Maybe this new love of his won’t last, and a year from now I will again be counseling my broken hearted father. I don’t believe that will be the case (and I think that if it were – I would likely find myself as broken hearted as him in the wake), but it’s possible. Anything is possible.
What my dad has taught me about love though, is that fearing that possibility will get you nowhere. It will only inhibit you. Keeping you from finding the one thing you’re actually searching for. Barring you from falling madly, deeply, and completely into love.
And I know that should that happen, my dad would simply dust himself off and try again. That he would get on that horse once more.
My father. The serial monogamist.
He’s taught me that in order to find love, you first have to be willing to open your heart.
And it’s a lesson I am working very hard on learning.
