Next- a decade of dating

2011-'Dancing on my own'

1.1.11 is a pretty interesting way to start the year. Angel numbers had a way of landing in my life with weird goosebump surprise (and an it's alright comfort). I would catch a glance of these tall straight digits popping up on my phone when I checked it. I would see them in my car on the illuminated clock, and less frequently there would be a series of ones on my odometer or I would spy the phenomenon in the midst of the most unusual places on a clock that was unceremoniously obviously silently crying out to me. My angels were (and have) been trying to tell me, Angie, something for a very, very, extraordinarily lengthy time.

I started 2011- New Year's Day, with a decision to stand firm in my life and take control. Control of my- thoughts, feelings and decisions. With Daniel now finished high school and Saskia in her last couple of years of schooling, I knew I needed a; directive, a plan, a map of some sort; so that my forties were not wasted on a quagmire of survival.

My fortieth birthday, passed without party, pretence, balloon fanfare or celebrating. Just a quiet dinner with Dan and Sask and my friend Maggie. We went for a meal at the local Thai restaurant. The four of us sat encased in a cosy cushioned plush booth, with dim purple lighting and gold deity like ornaments surrounding us- my little party and our booth. Maggie paid. She was great like that. Always helping me out, lending me money when I needed it, babysitting the kids, or offering to holiday with me and both of us would split the costs of a daggy two bedroom unit up the coast somewhere, so that the kids and I, and her kids had a holiday- all of us were then satisfied with instant company. Maggie had two kids of her own, of similar ages and we all had a great time when we we came together.

With both money and energy in limited supply, my last year had been spent supporting Dan and Saskia through unending depths of silent anger and their occasional outbursts of grief that were demonstrated with heart wrenching sobbing, that tore at my heart, with floods of tears from them and me. Cradling Dan who was taller than me, when he was at his most vulnerable was knife to the heart pain. Saskia would be less noisy in her grief, but more catatonic in her engagement with the world. There are so few words to console teenagers when they can't put their finger on the what and why of the seemingly fucked up actions of not together parents. Holding them tightly, hugging, wrapping them in love and shedding  unending tears with them, had been a regular grief release in the past few years. Dan and Sask knew both Alex and I were not able to take away their deep pain. The extreme disappointment and unspoken dissatisfaction they felt was never voiced yet I experienced it in the outbursts both had enacted over the past few years. Dan particularly was persecuted by the reality that neither his mum nor dad had their shit together. Sask was less angry but more visceral in demonstrating her hurt. Her fragility and vulnerability was evident in her  not wanting to grow up. A homebody and introvert, she had not found her own saving grace. She was no longer Daddy's girl. She deeply resented Alex, and Andrea well she was the epitome of the evil step mother.
My daily efforts were aligned and directed at helping Dan and Sask make sensible informed choices. Supporting them into their own forays- into the world of serious dating and almost adult life. It was a tough gig. Especially solo. No wonder I had felt completely and utterly zapped of energy.
Working full time, in the demanding role of teaching high school, layered with full time parenting meant there was so little time for investing in my own life, let alone love life. Dan had finished school, with good marks and more importantly he had grown up to be a kind and gentle man. Full of potential, youth and energy- he was talented at most things and the surf had been his confidante. The hours he spent sitting on his half submerged board, worshipping the fluidity of water and the waves, were moments when he was immersed in the healing magic of the ocean. Dan instinctively knew that the tide and waves ebbed, flowed and dumped at their own doing. The peace and joy he attained surfing, allowed  him to be at one with nature. An occasional mentoring from older and wiser surfers, had been invaluable in guiding Dan through his struggling teenage years. He had been as lost as I had. For a few years, we had muddled along in waist deep Watkins grief. There was no finish line for our grief but simply a cleansing of the murky emotions within our broken family. As the muddiness of our grief settled around us, it lowered its depth. We would never be the ideal complete family. There was no resolving what we had all lost. The depths of grief were still there, but it didn't consume us as a family anymore.