As I’ve said from the very beginning, my only goal was and is to do what is best for my children.  The problem? Knowing what is best for my children.  And in my case, with children of various ages, I quickly learned no one solution was a perfect fit for all of them. And no time did that become more evident than March 18, 2009.

The first day of our nightmare.

I spent that day in shock, but knew the worst was yet to come because my children were still innocently living the last moments of life as we’d known it.  They had no idea what they were coming home to at the end of the school day.  What WAS I going to do?

I consulted a friend who is a therapist by profession.  I told him the situation and he, also, asked me THE question of the day:  what are you going to do?  I told him I didn’t know; the only thing I knew was that I needed to do what was best for my children.  And instead of judging me, he responded, “Andrea, I wish all women thought that way.  If only all women, all parents,  thought that and did that, their children would be SO much better off!”

I didn’t know where I was or where I was headed for the short term, but at least for the most important thing, my children, I was on the right track. There was a lot (like everything!) I didn’t know if I had the strength or courage to do.  But doing what was best for my children was one thing I could do.

So we talked about what I thought was best for my children, how to tell my children of our new circumstances, who should tell them, and other things I was on a deadline to decide before the kids got home from school.

The plan:  somehow get through the rest of the day, but tell the kids that day, before they heard the news from anyone else or it was reported in the media.

It was a day of events so incongruous it was impossible for me to reconcile.  For example, I remember being outside with my three-year-old that afternoon.  (I wanted to be inside, emotionally dying, but life has to go on.  I had to be a mother, too, in spite of my pain.  I had to parent through the shock.  Really, I was the only parent my children had.)  I remember watching my youngest enjoy the sunshine, stopping occasionally to examine a bug or a rock or a weed or a wildflower, and returning to me with a dandelion clutched tightly in his fist.  He presented it to me with a big, innocent smile, and my heart shattered. Again.  For him and what was ahead of him.  And for me.  He had no idea how much I needed that gesture.

HOW can this day be happening?

I don’t remember if we ate dinner that night. I don’t remember if the kids had homework or if they got their homework done. But I remember the moment we gathered our family together for the last time. I remember their tears and emotional devastation.  I remember Him walking out and leaving after his announcement.

I remember being left with four children, looking to me for guidance through the morass we’d be left to navigate alone, and not having a clue how I was going to do it.

We stood in the kitchen, the kids and I, all of us in shock. Everyone looking at me with red eyes.  Everyone filled with fear and questions. My middle son was the first to speak.  It had just dawned on him.  ”Does this mean you and dad are going to get divorced?”

And before I could answer, my two oldest children answered for me.  At the very same time, one said, “YES!” and the other said, “NO.”

Jinx.

Like I said, I realized then and there no one solution was going to best for each of my children.  Which made everything instantly more challenging for me. What WAS I going to do?

Here is what I did.

I saw that my children needed time to process the shocking new developments in our life.  I saw that my 3rd grader could do this best when everything remained as close to normal as possible.  So I tried to keep things as normal as possible.

When He returned to our home late that night, and asked the question, “What do you want me to do?  Do you want me to leave?”  I allowed him to stay for the sake of our children.

If my children were going to spend the next several years (and possibly the next decade or more) without a dad, and if they were comforted having their dad in our home (and the two youngest children clearly were), I could allow them another six weeks to have a dad.  I knew they had a lifetime ahead of them without one.

We had lost everything.  My children had lost even more.  I could put my personal feelings aside and allow them that one small thing.  A father.  For another six weeks.